DYING LEAF
I fell long ago.
It seems like years now
Though I know, very well, that is far from the truth
I am stranded here
Surrounded by the sharp blades of grass that poke into my back
They whisper of sorrow and lost lives
I don’t speak to them.
When I look up, I can see my home spreading its branches above me
Green, healthy leaves hanging like ornaments
against the blue sky.
I was like that
Once.
All my hope is gone. I am beyond help, with not much time left
That part makes me happy, though
It’s this waiting process that gets to me
I wish I could just skip to the end:
Decompose and be reborn to the earth
Contribute to the rich soil, that, out of,
More trees will be born
New hope
and
New Life
“What do you want human,” said the head in a growling voice.
The General paused wiping the sweat off his brow. “I wish to speak through the lens.”
“Pay the fee,” said the head grumpily.
The General nodded humbly taking out two gold coins.” Come along, come along,” demanded the head impatiently.
“Okay, okay, here you go,” said The General. He threw the coins into the fire. The head sighed happily “Thank you, I’ve been hungry for while.” The head bowed disappearing in a cloud of smoke. A sphere of blue energy appeared where the head had been.
“I wish to speak to King Anwyn,” The General said. The blue sphere spun crackling with energy before coming to stop in front of The General.
“What is it General,” said King Anwyn his voice dripping with sarcasm and hate.
“I wish to give you warning that an Avon Arret ship may cross your waters soon. I know your feelings may be clouded by the war but please do not harm the occupants of the ship, I beg you.”
The King snorted, “Clouded? More like permanently scarred, beware General we will attack any ship from Avon Arret that we see.”
The blue sphere crackled and then fizzled before disappearing.
The General sighed in disappointment. It may come to battle, a battle that we will surely win, but do I want that? He thought darkly. He walked down the tower’s steps his mind wandering.
Cheers Everyone!Yes you are all invited to Duke Sanko's Coronation. Please tell me what you think. Enjoy! (Sorry this is such a short part of the story)
Dear Honored Guest,
You are hereby invited to the official coronation of the soon to be monarch of Avon Arret and lord of the castle Aerofix, Sanko. This un-announced coronation is being held do to the unfortunate passing of our former monarch, King Rynheart the 3rd. Wear your most stately clothes and arrive at the banquet hall at 11:00 sharp. An official luncheon kindly paid for by Sanko will follow. Preceding this will be the Kings Dance where the new king shall dance with the new queen. Commoners are welcome to join in the dance. Therefore, it is recommended that all guests who wish to dance wear the proper footwear.
Sincerely,
Chief Scribe Wimbleson on behalf of the Duke Sanko
Cheers Everyone
nAtHaN
I walk the Lonely Places.
The worlds of emptiness and shadows.
The place in between the center lines on the road.
The attic filled with moldy mystery paperbacks.
Graffiti covered alleyways littered with trash.
An empty stadium, my shoes tapping on the concrete stairs.
The spot beneath frail winter trees under the shadow of the thin branches.
Sitting on the stool at a closed bar, a dusty glass sitting on a coaster.
A dark studio, watching the shadows dance on a blank canvas.
A statue in a square, its stone body slowly crumbling into nothing.
Sitting by the side of a frozen stream, dead leaves covering the icy surface.
A room lit only by a flickering light bulb.
I
Walk
The
Lonely
Places.
I
Am
The
Lord
Of
Lonely
Places.
Cheers Everyone!
nAtHaN
“I get the window seat,” Maeve said quickly, sitting down before Tariq could protest.
“Maeve—” He trailed off and sat next to her, glancing around him. Planes always made him nervous.
“Ew! I hate these little pillow things!” she said suddenly. Maeve began to take the scratchy sleeve off the small airplane pillow in her seat.
“Don’t do that. It’s not sanitary. Look—” Tariq pointed at little specks of something decorating the fabric inside the sleeve. “That’s from the last user of that pillow.”
“Gross. Never mind.” She began stuffing it back into the sleeve, rubbing her hands on Tariq’s armrest.
“Stop it,” he snapped, elbowing her had away. She sighed and slumped backwards in her seat.
“Is this plane taking off any time soon?” Maeve muttered. She dug into her pocket and retrieved two slightly squishy pieces of gum and handed one to Tariq.
“What’s this for?”
“You put in your mouth and chew. It’s called gum,” she said slowly, in her Tariq-you-are-an-IDIOT voice.
“No, really. Are you just being nice to me and giving me gum?”
“Of course not! Duh, Tariq. Why do you think I would do something like that?”
He waited.
“It’s for takeoff. If you chew gum, your ears don’t pop at the change of altitude.”
“Oh.” Reaching into the pocket on the seat-back in front of him, he pulled out a pair of black earphones wrapped in plastic. They were decorated with a little green shamrock insignia.
At that moment, a message from the pilot sounded throughout the plane. They were taking off.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Tariq,” Maeve said quietly. He didn’t answer, his eyes glued on the little screen in front of him. He was watching a western movie—True Dirt. Or something like that.
“Tariq!”
He removed his headphones.
“What?”
“Dinner’s about to come. You can get chicken or beef.”
“Ugh. Airplane food. I guess I’ll get beef.” He absentmindedly knocked his plastic cup of water off the tray in front of him with his elbow. It fell on Maeve’s backpack, creating a dark stain.
“Crap! Be careful!” she snapped, bending over to pick up the cup. She tossed it at him.
“Hey!” Tariq began to put his earphones back on.
“What are you watching, anyway?”
“True Grit. It’s good, you should watch it too.”
Maeve had spent the last hour watching Gulliver’s Travels, even though she only sometimes liked Jack Black.
“Look. There’s the dinner cart thing.” She pointed at one of the flight attendants, who was pushing what looked like a rectangular silver box on wheels one aisle over.
“And there’s the dinner.” Tariq nodded at a small tan tray, covered with assorted foil covered little containers.
“That’s it?!”
“Uh-huh…”
“Really?” Maeve looked greatly disappointed. “I didn’t know it would be…like that.”
“When was the last time you were even on a plane?”
She thought. “Um…seven years.”
“Well, that explains it, I guess.”
The orchestra of the storm booms in victory over its arch enemy sunlight. The violins of swaying trees and the cellos of creaking trees are joined by the loud timpani of falling trees.
Deep gray storm clouds push away the sunlight rudely dismissing it as inferior.
Bright lightning flashes, splitting the spines of frail tress roughly apart. Boom! The ground shakes as the weeping willow falls on to the soft spongy ground.
The willow is not the only one weeping; a mother bird sings a lamentation at the sight of the circle of twigs that has been crushed under the heavy trunk of the willow.
The sadness of beautiful songs that will never be sung.
A mural of rain paints the soggy sky adding more to the symphony of the storm.
The storm slowly becomes dormant once again waiting for the right moment to strike once more.
Here is a list of Shakespearean Insults I found with my friend.
They are all real and from various plays and surprisingly come in handy. Yes I yell at people asking whether they take me for a sponge. I know I'm weird. But hey, this is what I do.
Use them at your friends, enemies and everyone in between!
Shakespearean Insults!
Thou dankish elf-skinned baggage!
Thou calumnious weather-bitten moldwarp!
Thou loggerheaded clay-brained wagtail!
Thou fobbing base-court foot-licker!
Thou villainous pox-marked codpiece!
This is the foul fiend Fibbertigibbet!
Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood!
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat!
Thou halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon egg of discretion!
You Banbury cheese!
You lisp and wear strange suits!
You whoreson cullionly barbermonger!
Thou beslubbering brazen-faced boar-pig!
I do not like your look, I promise thee!
Take you me for a sponge?!
Cheers Everyone!
nAtHaN
Inside a cell that had been converted into a makeshift planning room sat seven people. If you simply glanced at the group you would not see any connection between them. They might have been the most unique group of people in all of Avon Arret. The group included a former soldier, a widow, a former spy, a hotel owner, a businessman, a stable worker, and a cobbler. But all these people had one thing in common, they were all master thieves. They belonged to a group called The Long Shadows. At that moment, they were in a meeting with two other people, one was the Thief Lord, Hihkantu the other was the new prisoner Hylar. Eight of them were leaders of the biggest undercover scheme in the Avon Arret. The ninth person was being interrogated. The Long Shadows asked tough questions, very tough questions.
The sat on stools in a semicircle around the man, the two woman in the group were at the ends, both had sworn to kill the other many times so it was always good to be safe rather than sorry. The man sat, his hands tied behind his back to the chair. A black hood fell over his head and over his face muffling his short, sharp breathes.
A man sitting on the edge of stool, second from the left, stroking his chin asked the first question. “What is your full name and where do you come from?” he asked keeping his voice level and emotionless. His cane leaned against his stool precariously.
“I am known by many names,” Hylar said simply earning him a slap in the face.
“Answer the question,” growled the man growing angry.
“I am Hylar Tyll, but I am known as The Shadow, The Farmer, and He Who Dulls Men’s Swords. I come from southern Avon Arret.” He said wincing from the blow to his cheek.
“Thank you” responded the man leaning back on his stool pondering the answers.
The woman to the left of him asked the next question, “Why were you trying to infiltrate the castle?”
Hylar paused then answered, “ I was trying to steal some gold from the museum wing,” he answered.
“What gold?” asked the woman narrowing her eyes.
Hylar sighed and then answered, “The King’s Compass.”
A flash of astonishment buzzed through the room. The woman looked back at Hylar, suspicious.
“Why?” she asked simply.
“Because that is what I wanted,” he said.
The woman nodded sitting back in her chair content with his answer. The man on the right side of her however, was not.
“What kind of answer is that!” he cried. “Answer the woman,” he demanded.
“I did,” answered Hylar coolly.
“Don’t talk back to me, don’t you know that we could kill you at any moment?” he said smugly.
“Yes, I know that,” replied Hylar, “But you won’t, you can’t” he said calmly.
“And why do you think that?” said the man pulling out a long curved knife.
“Because I am guessing that Hihkantu has ordered you not to harm me.”
There was a pause as the members of the thief group thought about the bold guess.
It was the man who broke the silence, “Well, to my knowledge we aren’t under any such orders,” once again he unsheathed his knife and ran at Hylar.
The man fell to the ground, pinned down by a giant of a man in a military uniform.
“Cobbler, control yourself,” he bellowed.
The Cobbler sat down, eyes wide, chest heaving.
“Now back to interrogation,” said Hihkantu.
Ironically, it was the Cobbler’s turn to ask the next question.
“Where did you get the necklace and does it have any magical properties?” he growled motioning at the necklace on a table wrapped in an oilcloth.
“I got it from a merchant on the coast; as for magical properties it is a safe charm,” answered Hylar.
“Didn’t do you much good,” said the former spy chuckling. A couple of the group chuckled quietly at the jibe, but most stayed stone silent.
Next it was the stable workers turn.
“Did anyone else know of your goal to steal the Kings Compass?”
“No”
Next came the former soldier.
“Have you tried anything like this before?”
“Yes” Hylar answered, “But they were only small businesses, never a castle.”
The spy asked the next question, “Do you have any formal weapon training or training in magic?”
“Yes, I was trained in swordsmanship but I have never received magical training.”
“And who was your teacher?” asked the spy following up his first question.
“The sword master Nesufrias the Great,” he answered proudly.
“Never heard of him,” said the spy.
The last question belonged to the hotel owner.
She asked, “Do you have any family in the surrounding area?”
“No” he said with a cold finality.
Cheers Everyone!
nAtHaN
