Jai'alan

It was the seventeenth day of the nineteenth month, and the High Council was in session. They met twice a month, on fixed days, and all of the noblemen’s sons spent the day inside, pondering the actions of the High Council. Each of them sought his own way to spy on the adults. None ever succeeded.
It was on this day that the youngest daughter of the Jae’el family aged her fourteenth year. This meant she would become a woman, and would be forced to marry by status, and not by love. She felt this was not how it was supposed to be done, and so she sought a way to enter the Council, to speak before them.
She had trained herself secretly in the arts of a thief since she was six, and the art of Blademastery since she was nine. If anyone could enter the Council without permission, it was she.
She looked into her mirror, and saw her reflection. Her eyes were a light shade of blue, her hair black and wavy. She was considered beautiful among the nobles, meaning the suitors would arrive rather quickly, and each would request an audience with her.
She donned her black robe, and pulled the hood above her head, to cover all traces of her appearance; her robe had daggers and lockpicks hidden throughout. She picked up the sword she had trained with for years; it had been used for many years, yes, but she cared for it well. She attached the belt and scabbard to her robe, around her waist.
Walking over to her window, she grimly recalled the night when her mother had seen her climbing out of it; her mother had bars placed over it. Luckily for her, she knew the blacksmith who fitted it, and requested he build a latch. Opening the window, she reached out, and flipped down the latch; it sprung open, without a sound. She climbed out, and closed it again before heading down to the ground, some three stories below.
It was winter here, and the air around her was well below freezing. It was a good thing she put on her robe; it was quite thick, and prevented the cold from getting to her. She neared the ground, and, noticing no guards were present, dropped down the remaining half-story. Landing perfectly, she walked over to the entrance to the Council’s hall. She had also practiced walking like a boy, and acting like one, knowing it would come in handy eventually.
The door was of ancient woodwork; it was old, yes, but still in good condition. She knocked twice, and a hatch slid open. A man’s eyes were on the other side.
“Who goes thar?” the man asked.
“My name is not of your concern. I will give it when I speak before the Council, as is my right as a man of another land.” She had studied the laws of the country, as all nobles were required to. Her trick worked; the man opened the door, and let her in.
Around the room sat forty-nine people. Each wore formal clothes, as if in a contest for most formality. All of them except the lead councilman smiled at her, and bid her welcome.
“Show yourself, to prove you are a man,” stated the leader; evidently, he had not fallen for her trick.
“Tell me, do you ask all newcomers to this land to stand naked in front of many men who may or may not have a personal liking for other men? That must be why people are leaving. I ask for a Trial by Arms to prove my manhood,” she replied coolly; she was ready for this.
“Very well. Who will face this outsider?” he asked of the others; not a one raised his hand. He walked grumpily over to the weapons rack in the back of the room, and drew himself a blade.
She drew her own blade, without pause, and without faking uselessness. They circled each other for a moment, looking for weaknesses and openings. She found one, and laughed, without attacking. The foolish man thought she had cracked, and attacked, arcing his blade down at her. She blocked and shoved him backwards by leaning forcefully on her blade.
He came at her again, this time more skillfully. She parried his undercut, and knocked his blade flying with the flick of her wrist. She put her sword back in its scabbard; it was dishonorful to fight an unarmed opponent.
Once again, he came at her, his face red with rage. “I’m going to kill you!” he shouted. She knocked his hand away from her neck, not pausing before she delivered a blow to his neck that would leave him unconscious for weeks to come.
“Anyone else?” She smiled to herself. She knew none would come forth to face her. When none did, she stated clearly, “Good.
“My name is Jai’alan, of the Ulan clan. I have come before your Council to state that you need to keep your women here. One woman for every three I have counted here makes her way to my village to seek shelter. Each tells me of the horrors of forced marriages to people they hate. Tell me, why do you persist?”
One brave man replied. One of forty-eight. “They do not love each other when they are married, but they gradually begin to love each other afterwards. You of all people should know that young ladies don’t know what they want!” She laughed at him.
“Each of the young ladies that ran away has come across a man they truly love, and have married them, with or without their parents’ consent! In my eyes, and the eyes of my clan, these girls should have a say in which man they are to marry. Of course, this rides upon you having one last chance. Solve the problem, and there will be no war. Continue to force women to marry for status, and if even one more runs away to my village, there will be war, and THEN we shall impose the very same rule once your barbaric village is under our control.” Once again, she smiled to herself; she knew how to make men do things.
“Do you understand me?” she asked, calmly. Not a one moved an inch. “I said, ‘Do. You. Understand. Me?’”



I do so hope you've enjoyed this… Please let me know, but use insightful responses! I'm not a big fan of the generic "I love/hate this" replies! Let me know what about it is good or bad!

kthxbai! <3

White Rose

It had been two months since his injury, and the visions weren’t fading away, as his shrink had promised him. They were getting worse.

The world had turned a fiery shade of red earlier that day, in English class. To the amusement of his classmates, he had stood up and shouted, “Fire!” A panic, of course, was the result. And that was how he found himself in the interrogation room of the local police station, feigning listening to one very amused officer of the law. His parents sat on either side of him, occasionally nudging him to pay attention to the nice officer whose job it was to discuss options with the first timers and their parents.

The officer slammed his fist on the table, instantly bringing him back to the present. Around him, expectant stares awaited him in the midst of the flames. His answer was a simple one, and one he had said many times through the lecture.

“No, I won’t do it again.”

But the looks did not let up just yet.

“It was wrong of me to do it, and I’m sorry. I know better now, and won’t do it again.”

They bought it, and resumed their conversation about how best to fix his behavior. He blocked them out.

But it didn’t matter, really. He’d be expecting more hallucinations, and would not let them scare him to wits’ end again. This whole business would mean seeing the shrink again.

He laughed to himself. A child with a monocle and a toy would be a better shrink than Doctor Damon, as his patients called him for his resemblance to a demon. All he did was sit in his chair, asking pointless questions and then denying the legitimacy of the answers given to him.

“It’s all in your head,” he would say, as if that explained it perfectly. Well, maybe it was all in his head, but that didn’t mean they weren't real.

And the promise he would get better with a few drugs in his system? All they did was make him too tired to work during class. He still had his visions, and they were getting worse!

The sound of chairs being pushed back meant he was free to leave. He stood up, too, and muttered a general thanks to the officer. He would have used the man’s name, but he had forgotten it before it had even reached his ears, and it had not been mentioned again.

He followed his parents out of the station, and to the car. He stole a glance at the sun; likely, it was to be his last.

A bright meadow, skipping through dewy grass. A new day. Happy, content, more than ever before. A break from endless misery and reality. Hopeful green.

But the daydreams would never be true.

I think this is one of the weirdest of stories I've started writing… I hope that you thought the writing was good. But if you don't understand it, don't worry… You really shouldn't just yet, since this is only a prologue/chapter 1. Anyway, some insightful responses would be nice! Please let me know what about it you think is good or bad… please don't just say "it's awful!"

kthxbai! <3

Demetri

In the beginning, there was only one world. There was nothing else; there were no other worlds, or dimensions, universes, or realms. On this world, humans simply appeared. For what purpose, or what reason, nobody knew. By the power of the gods, some thought. But this is a tale better told at another time.

Our tale begins with a child coming of age. A child whose name was best spoken then, and now forgotten; his name was Demetri.

It is the sixteenth day of my birth; I am a man, now, thought Demetri as he strode through the graveled streets of Valanosth, his hometown. He crossed an old dirt road to reach the local tavern – a place he had been visiting, illegally or not, for quite some time. He didn’t plan on drinking until he passed out tonight, as he often did; he intended to experience manhood drunk, but awake, and so he kept some of his better belongings with him, knowing he could best any man in a fight.

He reached for the swinging doors, praying silently that there was a lush maiden awaiting him inside. Opening them, he noticed with much remorse that there was no maiden; his prayers had gone unnoticed. Sighing rather loudly, he sat in his usual spot at the bar. Flicking his fingers, he motioned for the bartender to give him his usual drink. The bartender obliged.

He sat there, motionlessly, except to take a swig of his ale every half-minute or so, or to motion for another. Little excitement went on while he sat there; he nearly passed out from boredom.

And then the maiden he wished for entered. She stood in front of the swinging doors, beautiful and lush, seemingly taking everything in as she gazed around the room. Her golden eyes flicked past him briefly, and then came back to him. She walked towards him, and towards the bar. Sitting down next to Demetri, she smiled at the bartender, as she motioned Demetri closer.

The only thing he could think of to do was to follow her wishes. He leaned forward, closer to her.

“I hear you’re a man now, Demetri, my love. Would you like to see a few things?” she whispered in his ear, seemingly eager. He nodded quickly; his luck has finally had a turn for the better after all!

Tossing his coin on the table, he walked out on her insistence, arm in arm with her. It was raining now. She led him around the corner of the bar, to a dark alleyway. He didn’t care; the prettiest woman in the world was in his arms.

“Let’s do it right here,” she said, and ripped off her shirt, exposing a bare, well-rounded bosom. Hastily, he did the same. Grabbing his shoulders, she pulled him in for a kiss. He leaned forward, closing his eyes, praying it would be a good kiss.

Their lips never met.

I wrote this a little while back… Please let me know what you think, but try not to simply say you hate it or you love it… It'd be great if you could give me some insight, here! :-D kthxbai!

Warrior

I fight 'til I win,

Or I fight 'til I die,

Because that's the way the bluebird flies.

Over the mountains,

And over the seas,

Because that's what the bluebird decrees.

I pack up my camp,

And ride through the forest,

Because that's what the bluebird implores.

It says:

Pick up your lance and

Pick up your shield.

Charge your enemy

All through the field.

Master them all,

Says He to I,

The Earth and the Air,

But foremost, the Fire.

Allow it to enter

Your body and soul.

Into your Center,

To achieve your goal.

By the grace of the sun,

To empower your arm,

You will strike down the man,

And invite within Garm.

Marionette Strings

What do you feel when life's not so real?

What do you hear when life's just a leer?

What can you say to make Them go away?

What can you do to make them come for you,

To set you free from these days of misery?

You want to go, but your body just won't––No.

The voice tells you so, caring, yet just so slow.

It whispers in your ear––Beautiful, but mere.

You greet it–Hello!–but it's gone out the door.

It's always there to meet your glare.

But always gone, when you want it along.

11:07

You know your life sucks when not even your friends believe or listen to what you have to say. When you tell them a secret about your messed-up existence and the first sound out of their mouth is a laugh, followed closely by an only slightly more serious "You're joking, right?" as you stare them down for their initial reaction. And then comes the ever-popular "I'm sorry," as if they can apologize for life hating you so absolutely… Oh, and then there are those people who try to tell you the moral of your own life's story––something YOU did wrong that made you deserve the crap you got. News for you, the moral is: Life SUCKS.

Have you ever said something you shouldn't have? And I don't mean something nasty and snide––just foolish. Probably you have. Well, every time you do, there's ALWAYS some stupid, ignorant bitch there who only catches those very words and then proceeds to misinterpret them. Shortly after, she takes those words and tries her hardest to shove them back up your ass by telling everyone what you said. Happen to you? Well, it's even worse when you spread your arms out as you say it, taunting everyone around you, like I did once upon a time. 'Cause then it's a hundred times worse.

But neither of those compares to the groups––the LEGIONS––of people who will call you self-serving or self-centered, or even selfish, when you explain to them that you derive NO pleasure from the mundane world, and would much rather be either dead, or better yet, deceased. Me? I don't do that. When someone tells me they want to die, I do everything in my power to comfort them, and then when they decide they want to go, I'm still there to help. But, oh, how many times people have called me a liar, or have run though hallways screaming that I'm an "emo" or that I'm suicidal, or insulting every aspect of my being. And what for? Because they still think I'm a liar, or because they want attention. Hell, maybe even to make sure the way they view the world remains entirely pristine.

After that, I think you're ready for a little secret about me: I wear all black on most days. Why? No, it's not because I'm a "goth" or an "emo"–-neither of which should you call someone, by the way. No, it's not because I'm mourning––actually, the color white is typically used for said purpose. And NO, it's NOT because I want attention––that's the biggest one. I wear black because I want people to know the truth. I don't like manipulative lies or people who cover themselves with facades. And I wear black because I have a deep psychological problem whereby I actually believe that I might be doing someone a favor by saying, quite bluntly, "there's more to life than you think, you stupid fuck" to all those who still live on the lighter side.

And the reason why I wrote this piece of crap little blurb about how much life sucks? Because I can't think but to imagine cutting myself, slashing my wrists open with the razor that sits next to me, or performing various gruesome suicides, the most messy of which involves a shotgun, antihistamine tablets, sleeping pills, rope, a balcony, and razors, even though I still have 7 hours of homework to do tonight and it's 11:07 PM.

3A

When your mind is barred

and your heart is steeled,

When your blood feels cold

and your skin feels dried,

Even through caresses

and sweet, loving kisses,

When your whole is thrown

into self-control,

When your life becomes

an empty mess,

When scratching

and clawing

and banding

and cutting

don't help,

When you strive for sleep

for what dreams you may,

When you imagine

90 ways, and smile,

When nobody even cares––

not enough to simply see

All the hatred you contain

for your simple existence

When they finally do,

it's already too late.

You'll soon be but a corpse

And even through caresses,

And sweet, loving kisses,

Your life remains the same––

Some young man's memories

I hope you like the title… It's thanks to Sarah. :-D