Freewrites

[Yui-chan]

Awww... Poor Nobody! The best natural laxative is relaxation, so don't fret over it. You'll get your literary bowels a'flowing again.

 

... now, there's a mental image one doesn't need at 9am. >_

~Yui

[Yui-chan]

#8

 

Yakusoku ('Promise')

 

I can't.

 

I can't see you. I can't hear you. I can't reach you.

 

The chains bind me. The walls enclose me. The stone smothers me, and I am crushed beneath its weight. I cannot move. I cannot fight. I cannot remember what it felt like to be me, to be a freeman in a wide-open world. I cannot remember what it meant to have a future.

 

Here, I am nothing. I am alone. I am forgotten. I blend with the dust and dirt around me, indistinguishable from the darkness in which I reside. The sun does not reach me. It should not, for I am anathema to the light. I will consume it and keep it for myself. I am an empty vessel that will take the rays of the sun and bottle them up, stealing them away from you like you stole my self from me. I would keep them as tightly emprisoned as you have kept me, and you would suffer for it.

 

Oh, how you would suffer for it.

 

In the meantime, I will not forget. I will not fade. I am corrupt and horrible and eternal, a blight inherent in the nature of existence. I am everything that is putrid and worthless and refused. I may be held at bay, locked in this prison of stone and rust and dark, but the day will come when I will be free once more. The day will come when I will fill my empty soul with all the purity of your brilliant world. I will consume it all and leave you in a place as black and heavy as this prison.

 

There will be no chains to bind me. There will be no walls to enclose me. There will be no stone to stand between us, and I will step into the open to find you. I will know once more what it was to be me, to be a freeman in your pristine world. I will know what it means to have revenge.

 

I will see you. I will hear you. I will reach you.

 

I will.

[Cerulean]

These blew me away Yui, especially the first one, which I thought especially fine. Your writing just keeps getting better and better.

 

 

Cerulean.

[Yui-chan]

Thanks, Cerulean! I'm glad you're enjoying them.

 

#9

 

The Unmaker

 

What would you be without all the things in your life, if you no longer had your power, your business, your influence, or your wealth? What would be left without your house, car, and posessions? What if your children despised you and your parents disowned you? What if your spouse left you? Could you stand it? Would there be enough left within yourself to survive if everything else you valued was gone?

 

What if it all came crumbling down in one, horrifying day?

 

I’ll tell you. You’d shatter into a thousand pieces like fine china. Everyone does. By the end of the twelve hours in which you would watch your life crumbling around you, you’d be either dead by your own hand or drooling on yourself in a psychotic stupor. Without your accomplishments to support you, your possessions to give you worth, you are nothing more than blood and bones and dirt. You’re meaningless.

 

Trust me. I know. I’ve watched dozens of men and women react as their lives dissolve into dust, that pathetic little soul-stricken look spreading within their eyes with every blow until there is nothing there but glazed emptiness. I have looked into a score of faces and laughed as the soul died in their gaze. It’s a rare and beautiful moment, and it’s what makes my job so damned pleasurable. It’s why I became my own brand of assassin.

 

My name is Emelie Reisleder, but everyone knows me as the Unmaker. I am a clerical and forgery genius, trained in the practices of espionage and disguise by British Intelligence. I can make any document, doctor any photograph, and break into any office in the city without breaking a sweat. I know a thousand ways to unmake the life you’ve made for yourself by manipulating the strings of society, administration, and emotions, and I long ago lost the sense of compassion necessary to stop me from using those abilities. No one is safe. Nothing is secure, for I know precisely how to topple your business, sabotage your finances, ruin your relationships and smother your hopes, all without ever having laid eyes on you. There is no where to hide; I can destroy you from half a globe away through my network of contacts and resources.

 

That is my profession, my passion, and my art. I am the ultimate eliminator, and my services are always for hire. How long do you think you can survive after I’ve finished with you??

[Yui-chan]

#10

 

Dear Diary

 

June 12, 2003

 

Today was almost a normal day. School was boring and classes were tedious, as always. Those two annoying girls in AP Calculus chattered away as always while Mrs. Pfleuger rambled on, oblivious. (I swear, that old lady is as senile as they come. I can't figure out why the school keeps her around.) Bobby and Dave were tossing French fries at the cheerleader table at lunch. Ally smiled at me again in the hallway. Oh, and that b!+$^, Tina, and her little gang of wanna-be thugs were out spray-painting the north wall of building 3 during 7th period. I heard that they got a month's suspension for their artistic urges.

 

Nah, but despite all that normal crap, I spent all day feeling just … strange. Kinda like a really bad headache was building in the back of my head, but it never really 'broke', ya know? And then there was that episode while Mr. Pearle was blabbing on about that stupid Shakespeare play we had to read last night. I suddenly got all antsy, right? (Not that it's strange for me to get antsy during the middle of a boring class, but this was different.) I was staring up at the clock, wishing that time were going faster and totally squirming in my seat, when I swear I got this electric shock or something. It felt like it does when you stick your tongue across the prongs of a 9V battery, except like 20 times stronger or so. I even had that tangy 'metal' taste in my mouth. It was way freaky, but what made it even stranger was that when I looked back up, the clock hands were spinning around the dial like they were on crack or something! It had broken, sure, but the timing just bugged me out. At least we got a break in the lecture while Mr. Pearle fiddled with it. The only thing better woulda been if Pearly's class had moved as fast as the clock for the rest of the period.

 

Oh, well. I can dream, right?

 

July 2, 2003

 

It happened again, today. I gotta admit that it's kind of starting to freak me out. I mean, once or twice is cool, right? You can write off one or two little freaky-deaks off to coincidence and go on about your day real calmly, but … come on! This is the fourth time in three weeks that I've had one of my strange little 'fits', and every time I do, something totally off-the-wall happens. I am now officially creeped-out about the whole thing.

 

Yeah, so, I haven't been updating the old journal so often lately, so I guess I'd better fill in the gaps. The weird s^!+ always happens right after one of those 'electric shocks' hits me and then I get that metal taste in my mouth. Anyway, first, of course, was Pearly's clock. That was nothing, right? A little mechanical bug that happened to mirror what I was thinking about.

 

The next one was when I accidentally made an exact copy of Mr. Meek's example art project. I couldn't even draw stick figures right on Tuesday, and on Wednesday I'm on fire and churning out a professional-grade acrylic painting? Man, Meek couldn't decide whether to be astonished, happy, or completely pissed. I didn’t know what was up, so I figured it was luck and considered myself glad Meek thought the same thing.

 

Then there was that homeroom incident with Brent Stockdale. The @$$wipe decided it'd be funny to sabotage my pen and the ink ruined my new Hilfiger shirt. I was making my plans to pound him after school, when the spaz jumps up from his seat and starts running around the room, screaming like a moron! Miss Frank had to go get Mr. Stitzlein from down the hall to wrestle Brent down so that they could get him to the nurse. They told us later that he'd been on a bad trip or some crap like that, but … well, I heard him mumbling something about demons when they were taking him away, and I looked down at my book. My finger was sitting on a picture of some old European depiction of a demon. It totally freaked me out.

 

Today's freaky-deak was nicer, at least, and didn't involve any screaming or hysterics. It happened during lunch, actually, when I was waiting to get my food. I got behind Ally in the lunch line, so I decided to try to make my move. Man, I was so nervous, but I noticed a colorful sketch on her book jacket. (She's always been such a great artist.) It was this exotic-looking butterfly done in bright marker colors, and it really was beautiful. I asked her about it, and she kinda shyly answered my questions. Man, she's so cute when she gets all grins and nerves like that! I was thinking about how she was as pretty as her little doodle when the 'shock' hit me and then this super-colorful butterfly flies up between us and flits around. Ally was so thrilled! It even landed on her finger. It was probably a great moment and all, but I was having a hard time enjoying it because I'd already looked down at her book. The doodled butterfly wasn't on the cover any more.

 

Now, that one's pretty hard to explain. I can't really come up with anything, and it's starting to scare me. The butterfly's one thing; the windows were open in the cafeteria, after all, but I can't get over the doodle. Marker doesn't wash out of a paper-bag book cover!

 

So… yeah, I'm officially freaked. Am I imagining all this, or what?

 

July 8, 2003

 

There were these strange guys hanging around school, today, and I kept getting the weirdest feeling that they were watching me. I mean, it's not like they followed me around, or even talked to me, but I just kept getting creeped out every time I looked at one of them. Mr. Meek said they were some sort of inspection team from the State Board of Education, so I guess it was just my imagination, but … man, they looked like something out of Men in Black. That tall dude even kinda reminded me of Will Smith, except white instead of black. I'm just glad I didn't have one of my 'episodes' today. Whatever they were here for, I don't think it'd be a good idea to show them something weird.

 

Anyway, Bobby and I are going to do some 'boarding at the park ramps. No time to write more.

 

[Yui-chan]

#11

 

A Moment in Time

 

The rain hovers in place beneath leaden skies, glaring with malice down at the grimy concrete and steel of the city. It strives to corrode the abomination of cold streets, to free the land for the plants and animals once more. They understood the balance, unlike the man-demons. They never sundered the circle with their will.

 

The city stretches into gray heights, blessing the very rain that curses it, awaiting the next refreshing drop and the sweet release of another particle of dirt. The filth weighs so heavily upon its walls and streets, a disease that clings and sickens the once-proud construct. It peers out from a thousand smeared windows and wonders why the men who built it have come to hate it so.

 

The insect peeks its head out from the maze within the city's walls, its jointed antennae held high with frantic agitation. The burn of the chemical in its belly is nothing compared to the inferno of blind, frustrated rage that claims its tiny brain. Damn those monsters and their cruel tricks! Damn their murderous, demented crusade against its kind and its way of life! Their huge feet crush so many; their traps imprison and starve thousands more; and today the tainted food it had unknowingly brought back to its hungry family would kill them all. The dying cockroach doesn't know why humanity hates its kind, but it most definitely hates humanity back.

 

The little cat stares at the emerging insect, her big eyes luminescent under the sickly-green glare of the streetlight. Barely more than a kitten, she has already earned several scars and sniffed at the limp bodies of each of her siblings. If she is lucky, the roach will be tonight's dinner. If not, then she will go hungry again, for the rain has chased most of the vermin off the streets, and she has never had any other way to find food. She is not as lucky as the other cats she has seen through the lit city windows, the ones who stare out at her with innocent eyes and fat bellies, their fur all soft and clean. She is chased and kicked instead of pampered and loved, and all she can do is fight to survive in the unyielding streets and wonder why she has no human of her own.

 

The man glances at the scrawny kitten out of the corner of his eye, paused mid-motion in the act of darting across the trash-littered street. Although he sees the mangy, starved waif, his mind does not register her presence any more than it does the ruddy carapace of the cockroach peeking out of the crack beside her. All he knows are his own thoughts, and they linger in anticipation of the empty pleasure awaiting him in his heavy right pocket. Tonight's trip will be a welcome distraction from another bad day at work and another fight with his live-in girlfriend. He thinks he's unhappy because he's not rich enough, not powerful enough. He thinks he needs a better place to live than his roach-infested, third-floor hole-in-the-wall, but all he can bring himself to do about it is to curse his decrepit building and set out a few traps. He hates his life; he hates his city; and he definitely hates the rain.

 

End

[Yui-chan]

Hi, everyone! I've been away for so long. Far too long! If not for my writing notebooks, the words would have long since staged a hostile takeover of my brain. Here's one copied out from a handwritten page in the blue book (the one with a footprint in it *glare at Aegon*), a quick dump that saved me from my own painfully-insistant Muse.

 

Yours,

~Yui

 

#12

 

Why not Write?

 

Why not write? Why not throw thought to page and let it splash into puddles of words? Why not release festering feelings through trails of cobalt ink and pray to gods of literacy that the scrawled forms will carry them away?

 

Because it's dangerous. Because words are items of power and vulnerability. Because thoughts are weapons once given form. Because feelings are chinks in otherwise-impenetrable armor. Because your words could well destroy you.

 

My words could well destroy me.

 

Ah, but they will destroy me whether I write them or not. Either they rot inside me, poisoning my heart and mind and soul, or they escape into forms and lines and structures, giving the worlds the means to slay me. They are my obsession and my comfort, my salvation and my demise. They are my purpose. The words are my meaning.

 

So, why not write? Why not exchange peace for vulnerability? Why not spend myself on the page and leave the world with a glimpse into an imperfect life, a flawed soul? Why not be the kind of star that destroys itself, one that is short-lived but so bright that it inspires the hearts of all who see it?

 

Why not write? It's the best part of you to give...

[Alaeha]

Hmm...

 

This one, if I may say so, is... odd.

 

Were I to say something like that in speech, it would sound venomously sarcastic and biting... except for the last line or two.

 

But if you'll take my vulnerability, I'd be more than willing to take your peace.

[Ayshela]

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.....

*deep breath*

precisely.

i wish i'd said it half so well. thank you, Yui.

Edited September 11, 2003 by Ayshela

[Yui-chan]

Aleaha,

 

Oh, I definitely see your point about it being written in a non-conversational way. This one is more stream-of-thought than anything one might actually say aloud, like it was ripped right out of my brain, or perhaps shoved out by the rest of the words clamoring around in there. I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it more, but perhaps the next one will be more coherent.

 

Ayshela,

 

Heh. I can see that you get it, and I'm glad. Or maybe I should apologize that you understand how the words can be. Obsessions and compulsions are wrapped up in this somewhere, I think, and the drive to write can be so insistant that it's stressful, I find. Anyway, enough of my rambles. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

 

Yours to both,

~Yui

[Alaeha]

Oh... I didn't mean to imply that I didn't enjoy it. I rather did. Especially the irony that seemed (to me) to abound in it.

 

It was quite well done. But my offer still stands.

[Ayshela]

LOL oh yes, i get it.. for all the times i've shouted inside my head to just SHUT UP!!!!! but do the words stop? oh no, not until i've sat down somewhere and written them, one way or another. and yet, and yet, the resistance to writing it is there, because it's not really *real* until it's made so, until it's given form on the page or on the screen and granted its real estate in reality.

 

words have power. you fight them at your own risk, you indulge them at your own risk.. but indulging them brings a better reward than fighting them - those crisp clear moments of blessed peace when the clamoring words have been stilled.

[Yui-chan]

#13

 

Valuable Fear

 

"Gefros Zhe Baringod, if you don't get back in that bed this instant, you'll be in more trouble than you've ever seen before," came the growl from the bottom of the stairs, startling the little figure huddled by the railing at the top. Before his father could start his thundering advance up the steps, he hopped up and darted off to his room, jumping into bed and pulling the covers over his head. He wasn't quite young enough any more to hope that he could fool his sire with the trick, but he closed his eyes and hoped that this would prove to be the first time.

 

After a few tense moments of listening to heavy foosteps down the hall, he lay there in silence, acutely aware of the weight of the much-larger body standing by his bed. There was no sense in trying to hide any more, so Gefros slowly peeped out from under the covers, blinking up at his father's crossed arms and stern frown.

 

"Daddy!" He feigned innocence, smiling with that dimpled grin that always got him his way with Mother. His father, however, just glowered. Apparently, it was a one-parent effect.

 

"Gefros, what were you doing out of bed? Don't you know it's bad luck to get up once your parents have tucked you in?" his father grumbled, coming closer to begin rearranging the covers the child had mussed in his mad dash from the stairs.

 

"Bad luck?" Gefros mimicked, snuggling more comfortably into his little bed. "Why's it bad luck, daddy?"

 

"Because the covers protect you from the boogey man, little nugget. That's why." The bed squeaked as his father's sizeable bulk settled on the edge, and Gefros couldn't help but slide over into the new 'mattress valley' surrounding where his father now sat. "If you get out of bed, you're not protected from him any more, and he might pop out of the shadows and grab you, stealing you way from me and your mother."

 

The child squeaked, snuggling closer against his sire. "I don't wanna get stealed away, daddy."

 

Patting his son's head, the elder softened a bit. "I dare say you don't, nugget. He takes the little kids he steals and locks them up in little cages where he can poke and prod and examine them from inside to outside. He uses lots of needles and shots. You don't like shots, do you, Gefros?"

 

"N...no, daddy," Gefros stammered, peering at his father with wide, grey eyes.

 

"Does that mean you don't want to go with the boogey man?" his father pressed, leaning closer.

 

"No, daddy. I wanna stay with you and mommy!" the little one whimpered, wrapping his arms around his father's sizeable waist.

 

"Good, then," the older of the two responded, "you won't risk getting out of bed after I've tucked you in, again, will you?"

 

"No, daddy. I'll be careful!" Gefros nodded to emphasize his intention, still clinging to his father. "You're sure he can't get me in bed, right, daddy?"

 

"I'm sure, nugget. You just stay under your covers and get some rest, and that mean old boogey man won't be able to touch you." He smoothed the hair back on the top of his son's head, smirking down in appreciation of his own handywork. Though Gefros was frightened, he was also not going to be loitering at the top of the stairs next time he couldn't sleep. A little fear could be good for a child.

 

Gefros' father stood, then, and leaned down to give his son a comforting hug and a kiss on the forehead. He smoothed the covers and tucked them in snugly before muttering, "Goodnight, son. Sweet dreams."

 

"G'night, daddy. 'An I'm glad the mean ol' boogey man didn' get me. Humans are scary! I'll be good next time. I promise!" Gefros insisted, raising one red-furred paw as a pledge.

 

"That's my monster," his father smiled, his sharp, jagged teeth flashing. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped out the light, being very careful that his long claws didn't scratch the wallpaper, again. After all, if Esmerelda had to repair that section one more time, she might very well bite his head off. Literally. She'd been known to do that.

[Yui-chan]

#14

 

Arrow

 

Fly

to the end

of a runaway world

where the sky

burns

 

in

such sweet shades

of bright azure and gold.

 

Dance

with the wind

that is plummeting free

from the cliff's

face

 

to

fall so far

to the cavernous deeps.

 

Feel

all the life

to be discovered there

on the razor

edge

 

where

hearts beat hard

to fight mercury time.

 

Arc

on your path

to a ballistic end

where you will

bloom

 

in

a moment

ripe with exquisite death.

[Wyvern]

I really enjoyed your two most recent freewrites, Yui-chan. Here are some thoughts on the two of them:

 

#13 Valuable Fear - I love the twist ending of this story, especially the play on words with the "man" in "boogey man." I also thought that the way that you subtly hinted at the family being inhuman was very well done throughout, as the son's name being "Gefros Zhe Baringod," the father's "growling" from the bottom of the stairs, and the way the boogey man uses "needles and shots" all alluded to it. I picked up a lot of these references reading over it a second time, and suggest that everyone read the story more than once for this reason.

 

#14 Arrow - I think the structure of this poem is brilliant, as the way the stanzas are presented seem to ressemble an arrow's trajectory, with the trajectory being cut short every second stanza (each of which ends with a period). This is particularly seen in the last line of the poem, where "ripe with exquisite death" seems accentuated by the notion that the arrow's path has been cut short and that it's become embedded in something. It reminds me of William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrel" in a very good way.

[Yui-chan]

Thanks for your comments on both of them, Wyvie! I had a more-than-average amount of fun writing both #13 and #14, so I'm extra glad that you enjoyed them!

 

Yours,

~Yui

[Yui-chan]

#15

 

Nerves

 

Blink, blink.

Drip, drip.

Feel the moment

skip, skip.

Feel your heartbeat

trip, trip,

stumbling over doubt

while you stand there, staring out.

 

Cough, cough.

Tap, tap.

Feel the closing

trap, trap

spring shut with a

snap, snap,

as loud as any shout

while you stand there, staring out.

 

Gasp, gasp.

Gulp, gulp.

Insides feel like

pulp, pulp.

Mouth can't get past

"Ulp! Ulp!"

no matter how you pout

while you stand there, staring out

like a frozen hunk of trout

or a big, fat, drooling lout.

 

Wait, wait.

Breathe, breathe.

Watch them as they

seethe, seethe

...

...

Then drop the mic and

leave. Leave!

 

 

___________________

... the second most stupid poem I've ever written.

[Yui-chan]

#16

 

A Never-Life

(Written during a boring meeting: 22 Jan, 2004)

 

Nevermind the painful lies he told.

Nevermind the heavy hand.

Nevermind the way his eyes grew cold

as she struggled just to stand.

 

Never think about the way she'd scream.

Never think about the sound.

Never think about the wicked gleam

of the blood upon the ground.

 

Never fear the hatred in his tone.

Never fear the sweat and tears.

Never fear the snap of fragile bone

as they progress through the years.

 

Never look into her hollow eyes.

Never look at his sick grin.

Never look to see her unvoiced cries

when he'd hurt her deep within.

 

Rather, hold her hand when months have passed,

as she's dying from his touch,

and then never hope to never hurt

when he loves you, too - too much.

 

(I do write things other than poetry, nowadays, but... not much. My prose Muse is pretty occupied with bigger projects, so has no patience for freewrites. >_

[Yui-chan]

#17

 

Cycle

 

The world is empty. It's so quiet that I can hear my veins flexing with each beat of my heart. It's so still that I can see the blood flowing behind my eyes, a ghostly reflection of motion on my retinas. There's nothing to pull me out of myself. There's nothing out there to focus on. There's nothing.

 

It chills me to know that, but it's a certainty that's lodged firmly in the center of my spine, tingling its way like an errant spark from synapse to synapse as it travels the nerve paths of my body. No matter what my will says, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I can't help but feel the nothingness in every part of me. It's as autonomous as my heartbeat, and I haven't the skill to suppress it. I can only wallow in it, drowning in the knowledge that I have been thrown into an empty place to exist alone.

 

I cannot change it, so I will wait... I will drift and listen to the song of my body. I will make my own motion. I will be my own company for as long as I must because I must.

 

Light flashes in red, green and blue from all sides, vicious darts of energy that end as often as not in screams and death. I watch them coldly, knowing as I do that one will probably come for me soon, but such is the way of things. My kind started the cycle of hatred that has come around to us, and a very large part of me believes that we deserve the violent end we have arrived at. The rest of me aims, fires, ducks, reducing the innumerable enemy by one.

 

I am dreaming. Or is it merely remembering? Whichever. It doesn't matter that it hurts to dream, that the imagines stab imaginary wounds that tighten the muscles banding my shoulders. Dreams are better than nothing.

 

Their return fire spits rock and grit into the air by my face, and I turn my head to shield my eyes only to find her there with her blood-slick face shoved too near to mine. I recoil, growling at her in my surprise and frustration, but she only smirks and says something crass before popping up over the ruins that are our shelter to cut down another of their little toy soldiers.

 

I can hear her sandpaper voice, like an echo in the emptiness, and a muscle in my cheek spasms under a sudden surge of loneliness. In another time and place, the strength of my reaction might have made me laugh, but as it is, I want to cry instead. I never even liked the militaristic bitch, yet I would give anything to have her here with me now, someone to help me absorb all this emptiness. Of course, that's quite impossible...

 

The bolt that takes her in the chest is bright blue and singing a perfect B-flat until it slices into her ageless flesh and falls as dead as she does. I don't bother to catch her; it would be wasted motion, and she's not quite in a position to appreciate the gesture. Really, I'm more inspired to sigh, and I do so, wiping the splatters of warm, blue-black blood off my face. One down, how many to go?

 

Not many. I look at the positions around me and see more still, empty bodies than living fighters, and I know that we won't be able to hold them for more than a few more minutes. It could be disaster, but in that moment, there's a static crackle that dances across my skin and sets the fine hairs on my neck on end. My smile is a grim one, but one nonetheless as the spreading front of energy tells me that it might be alright. It's like one of those old, lighted signs, blaring to the world that the threshold has been breached, and it gives me hope for the first time in ... in too long to remember. It inspires me to reach down and gently close her staring eyes before I dart out into the open in my mad rush to reach the circle. There isn't any more time.

 

Time. Oh, there's so much time, now. I turn it to dreams and exercises, to vain efforts to stretch myself beyond nothingness and drag myself out, claw my way back to ... anywhere. Somewhere. I have to will my heart to beat, now, or it will stop due to sheer apathy. I have to remind my muscles how to move every once in a while, lest I lose the ability entirely. In the times when the memories recede, I play games with my own brain, forging new paths, finding new patterns, tickling my cells with signals the likes of which they've never felt before. Still, though, the emptiness gnaws at me. I suppose it's only a matter of time...

 

The seconds tick by like an eternity as my stride eats up the distance. I can feel the heat, every now and again, of a close miss, and my body is tense in anticipation of the one that will burn into it, spreading the agony that I know from past experience. I've been lucky before, but I don't actually expect that luck to last through to the final hour. I haven't lived a good enough life, especially for the millennia since the revolution. I have too much black ether clinging to my soul to be worthy of surviving this day.

 

That's why I'm stunned when I throw myself behind the last barrier and find that I'm still breathing. The air flows in and out, not seeming to leak through any new holes in my body. The blood pumps through my veins, apparently unperturbed by any breaks in the vessels that carry it. Fingers move. Toes wiggle inside my heavy boots. Hell, even my ears are fully functional. The fact that I have lived through the gauntlet of laser fire amazes me to the extent that I waste precious seconds just sitting there, eyes wide and mouth agape as the stones around me explode in tiny showers of rock and the screams of the less lucky ring out from the aisle.

 

I'm shaken from my stupor by a spectacled labrat, and he grabs my arm, leading me to the apparatus and the crackling nimbus of energy that writhes around the rend they've created in the fabric of space. I stare at it for a moment, listening to him telling me that I must go quickly, that there's no more time. Others have already gone, and if we are to survive, we must send as many as possible before they can destroy it. He tells me all this, but really I'm not listening. All I can think of is how beautiful the rift is and how completely it contrasts with the ugly reality we've made for ourselves.

 

The thought from my dream sticks with me for a very long time, and as I play my games and pass the infinite time, I can feel it always tickling at the back of my mind. A reality that we made for ourselves. A reality that we made...

 

The labrat gives my arm a shove before turning away to find others, perhaps to help others. I know what he wants of me, and even while my thoughts are on the stupid choices my kind have made and the ignorant mistakes that have lead us to this end, I bend my knees, crouching to prepare the leap that will take me away from the consequences of our towering arrogance. That's when time slows down, and the laser beam that has cursed me streaks into my sight, a blood-red blur aimed like an arrow at the fat, metallic regulator sustaining the rift.

 

Horror hits me, but it doesn't stop me. Mid-leap, it's far too late to do anything more than watch as light explodes from the ruined mechanism, rippling through the open threshold that is meant to take me to another world, a safe place. I watch it flow, watch it warp and twist and change in the instant that it swallows me whole and snaps shut behind me. I feel myself plunge into the raw center of existence, my body spasming as the electricity there dances over my skin. I hear myself shout a warning long moments too late, smell the ozone scent of power, taste the blood in my mouth as my teeth clamp down on my tongue.

 

And then nothing.

 

Lots of nothing. Aeons and millennia and god-forsaken eternities of nothing that I'm so inexpressibly tired of. I choose to change it, and it no longer seems outside of my reach. I choose to build it into something wonderful, and after all this time, I know that I am very much capable of doing so. I want to create something that will be better than the place I came from, and in doing so, I will pay homage to the honorable enemies that my kind wronged.

 

With a smile, I stretch an immortal hand out into the emptiness and speak for the first time since that bloody day when we Elves finally lost the war.

 

"Let there be Light."

[Katzaniel]

Wow.

 

Wow wow wow.

 

I've only read the first three or four and maybe another somewhere in the middle, so far, but I wish I could make my writing as good as yours after revision, never mind sitting down and having it just come out like that. The words all fit so well together, the images you create seem perfect in my head...

 

How come I haven't seen more of your writing? Oh well, I'll certainly be taking the time to find it now.

[Yui-chan]

Katzaniel,

 

That's very kind of you. I'm so glad you've enjoyed some of these. They're actually a lot of fun to write since they're fast, free-flowing and unfettered by prior or later plot consideration. I'm still working towards 25. Slowly.

 

I do have writing around here as well as some poetry, but it seems like they're all getting a little older by now. A lot of what I've written for the Pen in the past few months is limited to posts in Conservatory roleplay threads. (If you haven't already, check out 'The Gaze of Eternity' if you want to read a fun story. Wyvern runs a great plotline!)

 

You'll have to be sure to let me know what you think of anything you find. I'm always glad for critiques and comments that can help me avoid mistakes next time.

 

Thanks,

~Yui

[Yui-chan]

#18

 

Swim the Pitch-Black Sea

21 March, 2004

 

(Created as a caption for the digital painting of the same name. It can be found here.)

 

There you wait in darkest night,

silent but for breath.

There you wait with dimming sight,

counting down to death.

There you wait, a soul adrift to

contemplate your end

tumbling to infinity

with fear your only friend.

 

Take my hand.

 

Let me show you all the naught

between the living flames.

Let me show you all I've sought

in dancing, midnight games.

Let me show you leagues of empty,

cold and lonely space

flowing ever outward at

eternity's slow pace.

 

Take my hand.

 

Fly with me through rainbow veils

that touch and cling and sigh.

Fly with me through diamond tails

of comets passing by.

Fly with me on winds of sunlight

wafting through the void,

seeking dreams of distant shores

already long destroyed.

 

Take my hand.

 

Swim with me the pitch-black deep

of interstellar sea.

Swim with me as down we sweep

through empty ecstasy.

Swim with me to sanctuary,

crystalline, blue sky

and let me give you one last kiss

before I say goodbye.

[Yui-chan]

#19

 

Haikai - Memory

8 July, 2004

 

Little boy of three

plays beneath the chestnut trees

amongst sharp-spined pods

 

Such liquid brown eyes

above a pure-hearted smile -

dark earth and bright snow.

 

A misplaced touch falls

trailing pain and frantic tears;

his handprints are blood.

 

*

 

Little boy of ten

in his father's overalls

and old leather boots.

 

Eager dark, deep eyes

pierce from a serious frown.

Fierce concentration!

 

A misjudged blow lands,

breaks skin as well as metal

leaving pride in rags.

 

*

 

Young man of eighteen

with the blue wind in his hair

chases rage with booze.

 

Once lively, his eyes

are ash and frozen wasteland;

bitterness scars him.

 

A moment's time lost

sends man and car through the night

to a broken end.

 

*

 

Little memory

of a beautiful, sweet child -

you are all he left.

 

_____

 

It only hurts, now,

when I think of what you've missed.

... and what you've shattered.

_____

 

The first piece ('Memory') is what I understand to be haikai, the body-version of what we refer to a lot around here as haiku. It uses the 5-7-5 form of a haiku, but because it is many 'stanzas' that combine to form one work, I believe it would be inappropriate to call it a haiku on a technical level. My understanding of a haiku suggests that part of its identity is its brevity, the flash-portrayal of a moment or thought or scene in only three lines. Haikai is its older form, sort of a predecessor to the modern Haiku.

 

In fact, I've been investigating the 'rules' of Haiku - in both traditional Japanese and other languages. What I take from my references is three key points (beyond the importance of the pattern of syllables or mora): First, a haiku in the traditional form should carry a seasonal association. It doesn't have to be overt or obvious, but one word or the overall imagery of the haiku should put the reader in mind of one of the four seasons. Second, a haiku should be highly visual yet in a refreshing way, guiding the reader to a new perspective on what's often a very common sight/occurance/activity. Third, a haiku should contain a natural break between the second and third lines. Often in English, that's made literal with the use of a semicolon, colon, or hyphen. At it's root, however, it's either a conceptual or grammatical pause-point or turning point, perhaps a built-in moment for contemplation.

 

Of course, these are just my interpretations of what is, in the end, a form that's practically formless. There are lots of opinions, especially once you migrate a traditional Japanese form into English. The languages are so different that they don't lend themselves well to a common understanding of the important structural points. If you have any interest at all, please feel free to check the internet for more resources or search out some books at your local store/library. Here is a starting point, one of the best sites that I found: Haiku for People

 

PS: That little haiku-like thing tacked in there at the end of 'Memory' is not really a haiku, according to the rules. It just needed said and came out in a 5-7-5 form.

[Yui-chan]

#20

 

Falling Farther

22 July, 04

 

"...df... od... ... re ... orm ... Cik ... apl... " The voice was low and soft, its tone soothing despite the distance. It made her want to smile, but she pressed her lips more tightly together, instead, feeling dimly the rush of blood behind her eyes.

 

Focus. It's a different one...

 

"Do...y...ully... ...sa... for... em....?" This was the higher voice, the warm and playful one that was often trailed by a grin. It fed her visions of twinkling blue and blushed pink, though she couldn't quite pull them together into anything coherent. That vaguely troubled her.

 

Is this right...?

 

"... of c... th...bri... ...mon..." The third voice paused to laugh, its sound corresponding with a vague jiggle from the blur that was its source. "'S... no... ble... ...rt, Y...?" This one was joy and humor, and a sudden flash-image of bare toes and inky smudges had a giggle bubbling up uncontrollably from her throat.

 

Shhh... shhhh... quiet...

 

The sound of her own voice ruined everything, and the others fell silent, their blurred forms shifting. Green and brown. Blue and yellow. Indigo and black. She felt their attention like a pressure against her chest, and yet she couldn't move from where she sat. Her half-lidded gaze refused to sharpen. To focus.

 

... move. Smile. Talk. They're waiting...

 

It was too hard, and she took too long. By the time she'd managed to shift her head and force herself closer to where she should have been, they were moving, their vague features resolving into concerned eyes and troubled frowns, outstretched hands that she felt on her arm. Even the touch was very far away.

 

"Yu...? ...re y... we...?" The second voice was accompanied by the invasion of a beautiful face, and she blinked slowly, trying to defy the other's keen inspection. She managed a smile that felt summoned from a million miles away.

 

... all's well... all's well...Tell them.

 

"All's well. All's well," she heard her own voice clearly, wondering idly how the words got to it. Apparently, they'd been hiding in the empty place behind her lips, just waiting to be summoned.

 

Similarly apparently, they weren't convincing enough, because when she turned her head, it was to meet another pair of worried eyes.

 

"...re ...ou s... ...?" There was another touch, this one more rough against the soft skin of her cheek, her forehead. She stared at green eyes and reflected that the smell of earth and leather was pleasant, comforting.

 

He's always comforting... 'ii tomodachi', neh?...

 

The warm thought distracted her, and she forgot to answer, drawing only more concern from the three around her. They were farther away, now, the haze heavier over their features, obscuring the sound of their voices entirely. Only the touches got through, the tightening grip on her arm, the slight sting of someone patting her cheek. Fingers against her chin lifted her lolling head, and she managed to reach up and rest her hand on a sturdy wrist.

 

She slipped, falling farther from everything around her. As her vision faded to match the silence from her hearing, the last thing she remembered was the stark contrast of her white hand on his blue skin.

 

(What is this? A random scene. I have no idea what's going on, but I'll bet you can guess who the people are... c'mon... guess. )

[Yui-chan]

#21

 

Ashen Circle

28 July, 04

 

I stand at the center of a circle, and though there are no walls rising from the scribed arc on the ground, I am imprisoned. I am chained within by a rusted length of fear and mistrust that is shackled to my heart.

 

I can see them out there, of course, the people that I know. They all wander the field around my circle, some carrying burdens, some skipping lightly. Some walk alone; some go hand-in-hand with another. I see them, and they see me. They come to chat, smile, say their 'hellos'. They stand on the outside of the burnt ground around me and talk about the weather or their latest work or ask about my day. They make some comment about their pet or my spouse and laugh at the joke.

 

I smile and laugh with them, of course. I enjoy the conversation, the chance to learn. Sometimes, I even share a little bit with them, if they prove interested and willing to listen. However, I know that in the end, they will turn away from the circle to continue their wanderings. I'm not strong enough to lift my arms and reach out to them, for when I try, my wrists are as shackled as my heart. I'm not strong enough to break the chain and beckon them in, and they're not strong enough to brave my ashen circle.

 

Except for one. This one steps across the border as if it weren't there and walks right up to me, wrapping me in an embrace that turns the chains to mist. This one, I'm free to touch. And love. This one, I don't have to fear. This one will listen as much as speak, will care as much as be cared for. This one is trustworthy and won't hurt me.

 

I stand in the center of a circle, and I am blessed that he stands there with me.