tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42808881929838229522024-02-19T23:57:40.848-08:00Shannyn's writingShannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-11964635340928448232010-08-13T18:09:00.000-07:002010-08-13T18:25:58.908-07:00AlyseAnd as the telling signs of aging brings the eldest desperate call, she hides with her the roses of tomorrow and the most fatal cut of all. Her sorrow overwhelms the dark as evil does recall, beckoning memories of ages past and times of joy and peace for all. Yet as dawn breaks through the misty morn, wrought with sorrow, bleak and gray, she sings a song anew again, the pain has gone away, and nothing can replace this moment, she will never fall astray, for when the twilight comes tomorrow long gone this girl must be, forever lost amidst the storms of memories now gone today.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-45222311741106910222010-07-19T11:11:00.000-07:002010-07-26T08:35:07.449-07:00MarshallHis face is drawn, cheeks hallowed out from years of hunger and suffering, his eyes, which were once soft and innocent, have long ago lost their luster for life and love for anything. His body pulses with muscle and anger, dyed hair hidden with a hat or gleaming in the sunlight, as he sings and yells about everything wrong with the world. I wonder, has anyone ever seen him smile? This man's mouth seems to be frozen into a frown, even when everyone else is smiling and laughing, he seems to fade into the background, as if he prefers it this way, as if he doesn't ever want to talk to someone. How can it be that the whole world knows his name, but he seems so lonely? He has everything this world says he needs, but I don't ever want to end up like him, miserable and alone, bitter and always wanting. His own daughters are all that he loves in this life, and nothing and no one else. Because all the money in the world can't buy happiness, no matter what they say. A dozen f words scatter across each song he produces, and each one only comes out angrier than the last. Will it ever get any better for him? I pray for him. Even though my opinion will never matter to this man, who seems to have everything, yet acts as though he has nothing. No matter how much influence I end up amassing, it will probably never compare to all he has built up in the years since his first words were heard. I pray someday his eyes will be opened, because he can gain the whole world, but if he loses his soul, he will die with the rest.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-31963337979382562262010-07-06T18:54:00.001-07:002010-07-06T19:40:47.845-07:00Good EnoughYour eyes tell of pain as they fill up with tears of cold liquid, falling like crystals to the ground. It seems as though no one can relate to you, as if everything you've been through has been so terrible, you've been alone for so long... this feeling, this awful feeling filling up your very being, making you nauseous, vomiting until there is nothing left to get rid of. Now everything is gone, black, gone and never present. This is madness, trying to be perfect, doing everything you can think of to be good enough for... someone. Everyone. Anyone. But nothing you do is good enough. So tired of hunger constantly gnawing at your insides, puking and running, and trying to forget... But nothing works. You have become desperate, will do anything to change, to be someone else, but no matter what, you will always be you. Even if you hate every second of it, nothing will change. Giving up, fainting, falling, waiting for someone to come and save you. But no one comes. Waiting, watching, but no one ever comes. You are forced to come back up, climbing, slowly, painfully, grudgingly, because inside you truly just want to give up. Because the pain has become too much, and you can no longer take it. The festering wound that eats your insides and rakes at your mind, that erupts in your soul and breaks apart your heart, it won't go away. Is this your fault? You ask. The answer to this question, it seems, everyone else knows, but not you. Yet it never goes away, this bleeding wound, overflowing organs with pulsating blood growing up hatred in your heart. You go to school, but it seems no one knows u exist, despite all your efforts to be seen, to be heard, to be noticed, by someone, anyone. But no one ever sees you, and all the pain that is waiting to burst out, and one day, you know, you will snap. Maybe then people will see you, what is left to be seen, but it will only be remnants of a person, carried away like dust in the wind. Darkness surrounds and shrouds, covering, overwhelming what little light you have let in. It will come soon, the end, you hope. But it doesn't, just as no one notices you, and all the suffering searing and tearing, burning and biting, clawing and choking. Night seems ever present, and it won't leave, for you soul is now used to this darkness, perhaps your soul itself is now black and dead, the way you feel inside. Is there any hope? You ask. The answer to this even I do not know.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-30787188476443826842010-06-28T10:26:00.000-07:002010-06-28T10:43:53.733-07:00BecauseAmongst the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">brokeness</span> and sorrow dwells the root of all, the catalyst, the antidote, the cure, the new life that leads to understanding and forgiveness. Because no one understands what happened, what continues to take place, how this feels, and what it's like living with it, day after day, month after month, year after year. Underneath the surface of what appears a perfect life, a flawless exterior, a perfect personality, lies what she hopes will never see the light of day. Never having dealt with something close to what has taken place, everyone watches, stares, observes, judges, yet none take the time to understand or talk, they simply stand by, then go on with their own lives. In the darkest corners of her soul hides emotion and confusion, nothingness and pain, hurt and loss, sorrow and attempted forgiveness. Because time heals no wounds, they are still as deep and as fresh as the day she discovered them, and no one understands. Because this world is cruel and heartless, it stole something they could never replace, something irrevocably important, something precious and adored. Because she would always blame herself, because nothing has ever helped, because underneath the seemingly flawless exterior dwells chaos, stabbing and stripping her insides as day after day it rips apart her heart, leaving nothing to use in defense. Bleeding, running, staring, secrets, hatred, confusion, love, understanding, forgiveness, judgement. Does anyone even care? Have they simply forgotten what happened? They say, don't tell anyone, they can't know, keep it to yourself, hide it away, never to be discovered or truly dealt with... Feels like her heart is breaking apart, while everyone watches and doesn't understand or care, soul exploding, crashing, falling in pieces everywhere, crashing violently to the bottom of her heart, laying upon a cold stone floor, rotting and expiring, choking, strangling, suffocating, murder wrought upon everything she holds close, never being able to tell or help, holding everything in, because no one knows, no one can understand... What will happen to this girl, so broken and left behind in the dust of the past, while everyone goes on, never glancing back, she lies dying upon the cold ground, breath labored, heart barely beating, waiting, but no one comes, because no one cares, no one understands....Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-70224804560519557692010-06-28T10:15:00.000-07:002010-06-28T10:23:36.495-07:00BeforeBefore everything went astray, before he broke your heart, before all was laid to rest, and your feelings passed the test, when life was normal and nothing could ever break you, but now you lay on the cold stone floor, wasting away as life goes on for others, leaving this girl behind, like a forgotten black sky on a summer's night, storm moving east, but she can't catch it, rain falls, day breaks, night prevails, and your heart still lays in pieces upon the watery ground. Beautiful and hideous, graceful and glorious, forgotten and wounded, what will happen to this girl, who doesn't recognize her own reflection in the mirror, gleaming with jealous hatred, shiny and delicate, she is so beautiful, so indescribable, unfathomable and broken, forever broken amidst heart wrenching darkness and a night too bleak to see.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-13699101034992923962010-06-28T09:56:00.000-07:002010-06-28T10:13:12.253-07:00Forever BrokenShe sits upon the stone stairs, eyes gleaming with tears, hair glossy in the moonlight, weeping in the midst of all her sorrow, thoughts drenched with everything from her past, her forbidden, forgotten past. Night continues to overwhelm her, washing against her porcelain skin, drowning her mind, suffocating, forgetting to remember, remembering to forget, and now all is burning up, fire extinguishing water in this cold world she created in her soul, her demented, dark, lonely soul. She is forever alone, forever broken, but she will never believe this, she cries out, her wounded voice crashing against a hallow wall of rock, drops of shivering liquid fall upon her tear stained face, so broken, so sad, so alone. Only her own mind to keep company as water and fire consume, she screams in pain, the flames and waves burning, drowning, crashing, devouring, without an afterthought of regret or sorrow, like him, her own flesh and blood, who came and destroyed and murdered and wounded and ran away, uncaring and unheeded. She asks herself how he could do it, but no answer ever comes, and she is left to wallow in silent misery, alone and forever broken, while midnight rain patters against the ground, and that voice inside her head torments, tearing, breaking, calling, calling to her, take it, pull the trigger, because no one cares, no one is here, blow yourself away, you are so alone, and always will be. She dares to fight back, never knowing how to express all the sorrow inside, except to forever wear black, emotionless and weary, unguarded and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">unhearing</span>, she walks a lonely road at night, so no one sees her fight, one this girl cannot win, one she knows will break apart her heart, finally and permanently, forever broken.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-35606477079817052472010-06-21T15:33:00.000-07:002010-06-21T15:52:24.923-07:00BoyI stood staring, unable to move my gaze from the boy's eyes, those sapphire globes, gleaming in the light of the mall stores. Haunting they were, and completely rare. I ran out of words to describe just his eyes. The rest of him seemed almost normal, natural, and average. He was very slender, and tallish, with tanned skin and tight jeans. The rest of his face held uncertainty, as if all his life someone had beaten into him that he wasn't worth their time. Who would do such a thing, I did not know, and could never understand. He was different, that much was certain, yet if I hadn't stopped that day and looked across to the store across the way, I never would have noticed the boy leaning casually against the wall, staring a hole into the floor, sometimes glancing up, as if expecting someone. Seemingly alone, yet not lonely, as if he knew he was okay on his own, that he didn't need a group of friends as a security blanket around him. I admired this, as I continued to stare, even as Ana held up a shirt for me to try on. He was beautiful, simply, that was the closest I ever came to describing him. Even now, weeks later, I hope to see him again, somewhere. I wonder what his name is, and what his story is, and why those unfathomable eyes held such sorrow and sadness. His mouth appeared so ready to smile, yet could have morphed into a frown just as easily. I had never seen anyone like him, and now I found myself wishing I possessed the talent to draw, because then words wouldn't matter, and I could show people the picture, and perhaps someone would know him, and I could meet this boy. I have blue eyes, but not nearly as dark and mysterious as his. He had dark hair, but not very dark, like a field after just being sewn, then drenched with rain. If this boy had a girlfriend, she was lucky, luckier than she would ever know. Because just by looking at him, I could tell so much about this boy. He seemed guarded, but his eyes betrayed more than he knew. Those eyes, those beautiful, glowing, sapphire spheres of ocean, they won't let me forget...Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-73976229214010730522010-06-12T21:17:00.000-07:002010-06-12T21:27:48.560-07:00Big Ben<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Big Ben chimed mournfully in the distance, indicating that it was time. I grabbed the basket and rushed to the entrance of the gardens, not knowing what might happen. One thing was certain- nothing would come between me and Crimson. The night smelled sweetly of the freshly picked roses I held in my arms and the home made bread contained in the basket I was carrying. As I ran down the alley-way, a gust of wind swept by, bringing with it the first cold omen of bitter winter. It seemed as if the city were summoning with all its ancient, hoping to end the already frosty fall with a layer of freshly fallen snow.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-46879545452132973562010-06-12T21:02:00.000-07:002010-06-12T21:15:12.746-07:00WhileWhile politicians lie to cover up secrets, and teenagers pull triggers simply to be heard, <div>While mothers cry for their unborn children, and cancer patients give up hope of ever being cured</div><div><br /></div><div>While everything ceases to make sense, and we turn on the television to find murder on every channel, </div><div>While each circumstance becomes worse than the first, and all that burns within our souls is a flickering candle,</div><div><br /></div><div>While babies are murdered and trees are saved, and terrorists burn and kill in cold blood, </div><div>While streets are paved for the famous, and the poor live on streets in shacks made of mud,</div><div><br /></div><div>While fathers sell their daughters for profit, and drugs destroy millions of innocent lives, </div><div>While many cry out "Stop it!" yet do nothing, and petty arguments ruin what were once strong ties,</div><div><br /></div><div>While the homeless spend their days struggling, and the rich in homes of expensive stone, </div><div>While the lost never stop running, and banks are forced to give out impossible loans, </div><div><br /></div><div>While girls starve themselves to death to impress, and animals lie hungry and abused,</div><div>While the world curses God yet suffers nonetheless, and those with answers lie in silence, uncaring and amused, </div><div><br /></div><div>While trusted adults pillage and assault, and the lonely torture themselves without interruption, and all the world falls in confusion for the next occult, </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What are you doing to stop this corruption?</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div>Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-80850177537160352832009-07-02T15:10:00.000-07:002009-07-02T15:12:02.453-07:00The FewApart from everything your eyes tell the story of an act of betrayal no one could fully know or comprehend. Yet beyond this is the vast emptiness that fills your mind, drowning and wallowing inside. Heart breaking, pain overflowing, tears pouring, no one understands. Cry for help, no ears to heed your plea, friends far away, as though they became strangers the day you became what you are, what you will forever more be. Prevention a possibility, trust never coming easily, mind bending, trying to grasp what has occurred, yet the hurt is unbearable and no one understands. Fighting to breathe, suffocating under the broken wreckage that has become your life, everyone so distant, eyes looking yet never truly seeing. Brokenness is all you know, pain so constant, heart breaking apart, numbness spreading, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">overwhelming</span> like a disease, smothering and destroying all in it’s path. Just as they did, just as they came and wrecked and destroyed and murdered and mutilated without an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">afterthought</span> of regret or sorrow. So sick of being ignored, of their arrogance and disdain for something they could never understand. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Disappointment</span> and hatred fill their eyes, can’t be what they want you to be, can’t prevent the irrevocable damage that has been wrought upon your soul. Black surrounds and shrouds, choking out all else, blinding and lying, crying and fighting, yet no one cares, no one understands. Clouds and wind, darkness and rain, hail and sleet, sun shines, yet light is overcome and the day becomes night once again. Eyes of sapphire stare, not daring to look up for fear of judgment and hate. They see, they ask, they talk, they assume, they judge… all but a few, those certain few, who take the time to truly understand and accept, to help and comprehend, to love and care, to respect and listen. Slowly the loneliness, the sorrow, the pain, the brokenness, the hatred is repressed, though it will always be there, cowering in the dark corners of you mind and soul. The few are overcoming all, boldly standing beside you all the day, enduring in order to understand. Thank God for the few, for without them I would be lost.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-6569683271924923362009-07-01T10:55:00.000-07:002009-07-01T10:56:14.090-07:00Beneath Rebel SkiesIce cold rain pours through the musty train cars, packed with hundreds of men, as cattle brought to the slaughter. I shiver, the soldier standing beside me has a hacking cough, can’t stop. He sounds awful, like an old man, yet he cannot be over fourteen. I myself am but sixteen, though I have seen more in my short life than most have seen in fifty years of living. The air is rank with the scent of sweat and blood. My nostrils fill with the smell, though it is not half as bad as some, it makes my stomach swim. The train comes to and abrupt stop, lurching forward and sighs as an old farmer after a hard days work. Shouts and orders can be heard. A lowly Johnny Reb yanks the door open, revealing his bearded face. “Get outta the train, you filthy yankee dogs!” His young voice penetrates the thick air, arousing all prisoners, soon to be granted their fate. The great mass of bodies moves as one, making its way out of the train. Frozen hard ground gives way to a demonic black sky. Lightning strikes, not a mile away. Thunder gives his answer with a resounding crack, which penetrates the wind blown atmosphere. Rain drops hit my tanned skin, as rocks upon a valley floor. The formerly beautiful sound of pouring water fills the air, soaking all that inhabit South Carolina in its unforgiving vengeance. “All right, you maggots, form ranks and prepare to march!” It was the young soldier again, perhaps informing his prisoners that he intended to provide them with everything terrible and evil. The mass of bodies moves a second time, with me somewhere in the middle, smashed and forgotten amidst such numbers. The sky wreaks her havoc upon the war torn ground and its occupants as all stagger towards their God given fate. <br /><br /> Finally arrived at the prison; Johnny Rebs shove us through the gateway, and into the camp. I suppose I simply expected something more, perhaps tents or quarters; yet there was nothing of the sort. Instead, sparse weeds littered the ground, as bones upon and ancient battlefield. Pushing their prisoners through, the Rebels shout orders to each other and let us be for the time being. I, along with many other Yankees, fall to the mire in exhaustion. <br /><br /> I awake the next morning to yells and groans. Morning dew soaks the already muddy ground, making it virtually impossible to navigate, ensnaring many in its boggy grasp. Coughing and hacking prevail through all other sounds, so many of my fellow soldiers sick from wounds or disease, cursing them in battle. Still, no shelters have been erected, no nourishment provided, despite the drenching rain and howling wind. This storm is unceasing, as if God is displeased with all the liquid falls upon. I wrap my uniform closer about my body, hoping it will keep me warm from the elements. Some men attempt to start fires near the wall, despite the pigeons nests atop, with Rebs sticking their noses out, awaiting an excuse to shoot someone. Their attempts are hindered by the weather, yet they continue their effort. I, too deeply desire warmth. I spot three men huddled together, so I join their group, hoping for warmth and companionship. “Dang Johnny Rebs, they wouln’t stick thay own soldas in this God fersakin place.” Willy complained. He was in my regiment, though I never much liked him. “Ah, shut up Willy, I’m tryin ta git some shut eye.” This man I didn’t know, he was mighty tall, I could tell that from looking at him. The third soldier didn’t make a sound, just sat there shivering, his dark eyes observing their gloomy surroundings, as a hawk on the hunt.<br /><br /> “Git up, yank, no time fer sleep at this hea place.” “Ohhh.” I groaned, he had kicked me in the ribs, as if I was a dog that needed discipline. “I said git up!” The Reb made a second attempt to injure me, bringing his foot back; I managed to dodge it. He cursed at me and sauntered of as I tried to adjust my eyes to the bright light. It had stormed for three days straight, never letting up. Yet today it was surprisingly hot. The bright sun hung in the sky, her eyes full and watchful as those below made their way about the earth. I wonder what she thought of our circumstance, if she cared or thought about us at all. Her gaze pierced the cloudless sky and shone upon my darkened skin. I saw the three men I had met two days before near the wall, constructing a lean to out of spare wood for reprieve from the sweltering heat. I moseyed over to them, hoping again for conversation.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-51258633381141284532009-07-01T10:51:00.000-07:002009-07-01T10:55:07.916-07:00Against all oddsDespite what we have nearly all been told of the sudden relapse of Native Americans in the 17 and 1800’s, the reason for the events that led to it are still somewhat unclear. Unlike most historical events, this was not completely understood or recorded as such. Because of this, we have little or no understanding of the Native American people and their heritage. In order to overcome this, certain documents and authors have gone back in time to correct the errors in history, and eventually attempt to right the many wrongs that have been placed upon these people. Once Europeans began immigrating here from a across the Atlantic Ocean, different conflicts arose between the white man and the Indian. For instance, while the Indian lived off the land and used every bit and piece of everything they killed or destroyed, white man killed and destroyed many things, yet used only certain parts of whatever he had mutilated. Although Native Americans and Europeans seemed to get along during the era of Columbus and Squanto, trouble soon arose between the two races. Many of their conflicts are the result of the European’s disregard and disdain for the Native American’s culture and religion, yet the Indians had a hand in creating conflict as well. White man enslaved thousands of Indians, or attempted to, yet soon discovered that this tough race would stand for no such thing. Because the Indians had lived in the same areas of land for thousands of years, they were extremely familiar with the terrain and landmarks that surrounded them. This prevented the Europeans from keeping captive most Indians, thus creating more conflict and friction amongst these two very different races. Because of this, the Indians retaliated in vicious and violent ways. Attacking homesteads, murdering innocent women and children and burning whole towns are just a few examples of how the native people dealt with enslavement and racism. Yet only certain tribes came to such extreme measures. Some attempted to reason with the white men, only to be faced with false treatise and corrupt politicians. One such politician was President Stonewall Jackson, famous for moving the Indians across the country to unwanted bits of land, called reservations. The Trail of Tears is perhaps the most famous example of this. Forcing thousands upon thousands of native Americans in the south to migrate to the north and west, President Jackson in turn betrayed the trust of the Indians, all the while becoming famous among the ‘true’ Americans for this act of falseness and fear. Jackson craved control, as he clearly displayed through his blatant disregard to anything and everything this incredible race stood for. Though Jackson is revered in some places, I believe he will forever be remembered as the President who nearly single <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">handedly</span> destroyed the Native American people. However, this race held much promise and managed to endure throughout this horrible ordeal and continue to produce well grounded progeny, proud of their people and strong in heart. Today, many native Americans live on reservations, scratching together a living, much like the rest of this country. Yet something about these people is different, they hold their heads high, their shoulders upright, copper eyes boldly staring the future in the face, declaring their independence and freedom to all who look upon them.Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-75313527316298408772009-06-06T13:56:00.000-07:002009-06-06T14:04:38.080-07:00Vagrants of London<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> “Til, Til.” Oliver whispered frantically from across the street.<br /><br /> “What?” I replied from my street corner. My misty breath was<br /><br />caught up with the chilling night air and carried away somewhere<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">unbeknownst</span> to me. “Get over here!’ Oliver’s usually laughing voice<br /><br />had become more desperate.<br /><br /> “I’m coming.” Again the icy wind captured my breath and whisked it<br /><br />away. I knew Oliver was becoming impatient with me, however I was<br /><br />finding it more difficult to carry out our plan than I had anticipated. <br /><br />Suddenly a cold gust of bone chilling air blew through Ten downing<br /><br />Street carrying with it the screams of Dowager’s Orphanage and its<br /><br />unfortunate occupants. The disturbing sound sent shivers down my<br /><br />spine, the hairs on my neck stood straight up as a dog’s. <br /><br /> “<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Tildon</span>, hurry, before we’re caught-or worse.” The unnatural sounds<br /><br />coming from the orphanage brought an ill omen with it, I was certain.<br /><br />I sprinted down the street, afraid to flight but ashamed to run. The<br /><br />Dark <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">revenants</span> of London’s midnight were all but upon me as I<br /><br />rounded the street corner- and collided with Oliver. <br /><br /><br /> “Are you daft?!” Oliver angrily inquired after gathering himself from<br /><br />the rancid alley floor and brushed himself off. “I thought you were<br /><br />an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">eidolon</span> or something of the sort.” The older boys tone suggested<br /><br />no empathy, as it rarely did. After he took me off the streets and<br /><br />rescued me from the harsh life of a vagabond, I quickly became<br /><br />accustomed to his strange ways. <br /><br /> “I’m sorry”- “Don’t be, just don’t do it again.” His chiding voice<br /><br />reminded me of the reason we had come here, despite so many<br /><br />risks. <br /><br /><br /> As we came in sight of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Grande</span> Mistress’s estate I realized the<br /><br />full gravity of our situation. The great mansion rose up out of the<br /><br />darkness to stand, imposing upon the lush, green acres on which<br /><br /> occupied. An array of Illuminated glass windows, lighted from<br /><br />the inside gave the aura of nobility to the entirety of the hall. As if<br /><br />to spite the bright windows, the rest of the manor stood in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">caliginous</span><br /><br />gloom, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">orphic</span> surroundings a preceding to the coming events.<br /><br /><br /> <br />Ch.#2<br /><br /> As we neared the gates of the Dame’s manor, my thoughts strayed<br /><br />To my former life, perhaps I was better suited to the fate of a street<br /><br />Rogue. Stop, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Tildon</span>, I thought, Oliver <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">didn</span>’t take you off the streets<br /><br />so you could become a coward in the face of slight danger. I<br /><br />struggled to keep up with the older boy’s long stride, yet Oliver was<br /><br />uneasy, even nervous, unusual to say the least. The waxing moon<br /><br />hung in the darkness, a livid reminder of the task before us. Her<br /><br />baleful face bright and full against a star glazed sky. <br /><br /> The long walkway leading up to the main gate was decorated with<br /><br />Marble stones, their glossy surfaces reflecting the sky above. <br /><br />Suddenly, a tall gate rose from out of the gloom, sinister spikes<br /><br />Protruding from it’s top, high above my head. Its great mass<br /><br />Intimidating in the murk of the night. The width must have spanned<br /><br />Eighty feet, it’s height fifty feet or more. We came to and abrupt stop<br /><br />Not an arms width from the gate. “That was strange.” Oliver’s<br /><br />Voice came from a few feet away. I stood in place, dumbly<br /><br />Gawking up at the enormous columns of solid black steel, rising<br /><br />Up from the darkness. “Don’t just stand there, help me get over this.”<br /><br />Oliver’s voice came again, I wondered why I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">couldn</span>’t see him. <br /><br /> “Oliver, where are you?” I questioned, my voice floating into the<br /><br />surrounding darkness. <br /><br /> “Over here, on the left side of the gate.” He replied. I carefully<br /><br />walked to the left side and there was Oliver, making a feeble attempt<br /><br />to scale our present nemesis. I let out an audible sigh of relief and<br /><br />boosted Oliver up, despite my present doubts about his ability to<br /><br />climb up and over the huge steel entryway.<br />Ch. #3<br /><br /> “Oomph!” Oliver’s frustrated grunt came from the ground at my feet, his bruised body rolled over on its back. I had no trouble envisioning the defeated expression that was no doubt taking occupancy over his young face, in spite of the surrounding gloom.<br />My older companion rose to his feet, an obscured figure in the encompassing murk of the night. “Help me, Til. We’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">ve</span> got to find a w-. His words were cut short by the ominous creaking of the opening gate. A horrendous wining sound enveloped us, sending my hands shooting up to my ears with lighting speed. “<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Aaaaaah</span>!” My voice sounded frail in comparison with that of the gate’s. Suddenly a flying globe of blue light swept through the air before us, then as quickly as it had appeared, vanished from sight. The force of the explosion of light, if it could be called that, had knocked me and Oliver to the cold ground. “Til, g-get up, c-come see this.” Came Oliver’s trembling voice. I rose to my feet, my head burning from the impact of the ground smashing into my skull. Heart pounding, I turned to gaze upon a necropolis of half buried bones, their livid shapes protruding from the sordid ground. I stood stock still, horrified by the scene before me. This time Oliver offered no words of encouragement, instead following my example. A sudden scream pierced the thick air, encircling us in its shrill, alarmed voice. “Meow.” A slight, white cat crossed the stone path immediately in front of me, captivating my attention. It slid in between my feet, purring with pleasure. She seemed to be concealing some <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">unavowed</span> secret behind her wane coat, perhaps- no it <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">couldn</span>’t be so. Yet it was. The feline, which had so alluringly held my attention, was beckoning. Her willowy tale was wagging back and forth, towards the Enchantress’s mansion. “Oliver, are you seeing this?” I questioned, turning toward my equally bewitched companion, who at the moment was gazing at the cat, flitting in and out of my legs. “Yeah, what’s it doing, why is it moving its tale that way?” He replied, his attention still captured. I looked down, the cat lifted its delicate head upwards, her refined features prominent even in the darkness of the night. I was alarmed at the revelation before me. Bright green eyes?stared up at me, a deep intelligence clearly visible underneath the glossy sheen of light that illuminated her sardonic eyes. <br /><br />Ch# 4 Our new companion seemed to spite everything around her; the impeding gloom that hung as stale breath in the air constantly surrounding, the wisps of steamy fog arising from the ground, curling against age old gravestones. She sauntered up and down the path, in between our legs, in a strange, leisurely manner; her nonchalant attitude soon became a small comfort in light of the situation. The enclosing stone wall encircling the graveyard we were currently walking through gave no reassurance; Oliver and I certain by now we would face a horrific fate at the hands of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">lamia</span> we had come to meet. Our escort seemed to be biding her time; I wondered what was going on in that fiendish mind of hers, my own on its edge, waiting expectantly for some demonic figure to emanate out of the eerie obscurity that was our circumstance. </span>Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-75156506226751960922009-05-16T11:31:00.000-07:002009-05-16T11:38:10.069-07:00The Old MarinerHe sat bent upon the sturdy rocking chair which now supported his frail body, grey eyes staring ahead into a bleak old age. Light tufts of wind and sunlight danced across his withered face, forcing remnants of his once thick hair to float in the breeze. The familiar scent of salt wafted from the ocean, filling his nostrils with the sweet aroma, though his senses had become dulled with the passing of time. Waves crashed upon the shore and though the old man had heard the sound a thousand times before, his mind echoed in remembrance of it, come back to me, come back, the sea seemed to call. Presently, he glanced up, lifting a gnarled hand for his crooked cane. He carefully stood up, his back never becoming completely straight. Wearily, his feet crossed the porch to stand near the railing, which he had constructed himself, along with the rest of the house. Looking to the west, his eyes met the sunset, glowing brilliantly against the cloud glazed sky, slowly melting into the horizon. Red, pink and orange became one, creating a completely unprecedented color, blinding all who dared gaze upon it. Seagulls called in the distance, beckoning the old man toward the shore, begging him to once more visit it's long forgotten sands...Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280888192983822952.post-65091874194874630492009-05-16T11:07:00.000-07:002010-06-12T21:34:37.999-07:00Introduction<div align="left">I've been writing for about seven years, this is the first time I've had a blog. I will be posting my fiction writing and possibly some poems and other various works. I hope to someday become an author or journalist, or even a screenwriter. Writing is my passion and has been since I was a child. I'd also like to add, I wrote several of these pieces in 8th grade, and continue to pursue my dream in high school. </div>Shannynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12890449539988248643noreply@blogger.com1