My story, your story... A game?

[Fleur]

(This thread doesn't have any special purpose, everything depends on your own interpretation.)

Let’s sit down here... and I’ll tell you a short story…

My home is a swamp. It’s a diffuse and secluded place which is avoided by others – perhaps they are afraid, perhaps they feel frustrated, perhaps they know the swamp is not their territory; I am aware that the sight might not be the most excellent one – feeble trees, dim light and bottomless hellholes, filled with ice-cold and filthy water. But this swamp is my shelter and I feel just fine when I’m wandering around…

However, there are times when something starts to pull me away from my safety zone. It drags me to the outside of the restrictions of my swamp, and every step I take makes me to feel more and more uncomfortable.
But eventually I find myself unable to resist this call, I follow the pulling force. My legs stuck in the damp soil, I trip and stand up again to continue my way, although I’m not sure what is awaiting me at the end.

I have finally reached the restriction… My swamp ends here; just one more step and I’ll leave my territory... But, as the every living creature, I’m anxious about the things which may happen to me if I step in unfamiliar terrain. I can see different settings, I can see other critters – but I don’t feel secure. What if they attack me?
I lurk in the shadows of the swamp, not wanting to reveal myself yet. I examine the other creatures… some are friendly, some – not. But are they ready to accept me?

Then I notice that some of those critters are nothing more than wooden dolls. Some other has replaced their body parts with wooden limbs.

So far the story is always (more or less) the same. But it can have different conclusions. Sometimes I crawl out of my swamp to be pushed back at it again. Sometimes I slowly return to the previous location by myself. But sometimes, if the critters are affable enough, I can play with them… but then the following push-back is the hardest.

I am Fleur who hides in the swamp.

Who are you and what is your story?

 

[Auburn]

A wanderer...

I live in a world where things mystical have not yet vanished, but are merely forgotten. I remember them from long ago, but live surrounded by those who don't know of them. I was separated from my elven family very young. I am still a child, and no taller than a grown man's waist, though my age is more than theirs, and have seen this world pass through many ages.

I travel the world in search for those of my own kind, for this vain humanity, which quickly vanishes with the wind, could never bring me true joy. But it is said that the entrance to my homeland is secret; cloaked with invisibility to those of this world.

However, those of my land can see those of this world. They possess a glass which allows them to observe this world while remaining unnoticed. My only hope is that one of my own kind will find me and invite me to my paradise at last...

I am Auburn...
the wandering elf...

hello Fleur,
nice to meet you

 

[Ermine]

I live in a world that buzzes with energy and sighs under its own weight. Opportunities fly by me in a half imagined half tangible form. Options show up on an enormous web browser screen before me, with no apparent links or web addresses. I am a stray cat, dashing in all directions at once, desperate for a fulfilling substantial meal. Everything is close, but I am slow with the burden of doubt.

I am a cat, but everyone keeps telling me I'm an ermine.

 

[Felan]

Every surface, every face, every action, ... everything is polished and mirrored reflecting me. Seeing myself thus, I lose conception of self. Marooned without an indentity apart from anything.

The mirrors are sometimes grotesque and make me shudder at the reflection. Sometimes they are flattering and smile with me. Often they are confounding, reflecting the infinity of reflections in such a nausating kaleidoscope, that welcome relief is the vomit that coats and hides it away.

I stretch my arm in greeting and the return is mechanical, unfelt and unnoticed. I hear the words friend or family or love, but it is only I tending to it. I despondently wonder if such words have any meaning.

I devise strategies to chip the glass, encouraging a repreive of the automatic response. It works fleetingly but tiny splinters glimmer of hope. The world isn't static, the unchanging is not characteristic.

The only common denominator is me, I am the flaw. So even the flaw is polished and mirrored. I laugh. I weep. I sleep.

 

[Prof_Pointless]

Ghast, Mist, Illusory Phantasm

Sometimes I am a harmless illusion, sometimes I am a nightmare. Never quite a tangible thing but always present. The world passes through me as if I were a ghost and when it does there is a hiccup. Somehow it feels different, but cannot understand why.

There are times I feel as though I could simply fade away into nothingness. There are other times I revel in my cloak of invisibility. As surely as any fist or bullet would leave me unharmed so can the lightest breath distort the fog that I am.

The world looks upon me with fear. The fear of misunderstanding and just as often the fear that I may bring them into my world. A world where they would break, give up and never survive.

Sure, it is easy enough to form myself into any image I please. But let them see the truth and let it bring them to the truth that they so fear and at the same time long for.

 

[sagewolf]

A wolf, alone... I have no memories of ever truly belonging to a pack.

I range through the forests in search of a home, somewhere I can feel safe and wanted. I have found places where I have been content, for a time, but inevitably I vanish again between the ashes and firs of the forest, always, interminably searching for that one place which is mine, mine, to accept and be accepted by, in which to find contentment and peace. I cast my voice on the wind tentatively, howling softly for fear of being heard in my loneliness... for fear of not being heard by any save the darkness, and hearing only my own voice echoing back at me, and slowly fading away.

A wolf... searching.

 

[Chimera]

(I like this thread already.)

At one time, I had a face. It wasn't very beautiful; the words it spoke and the thoughts it expressed were even less so. But it was mine. I would never change. Or so I thought.
Some time ago, I cultivated a talent for sculpture. Molding, shifting, shaping things to my fancy came naturally. Teaching myself as I went along, I learned how to bend even the most stubborn materials...namely, human thought. Some time later, I would boast that I had learned how to shape any mind for my purposes. I was wrong, of course.

When I was younger, it was a simple matter to conduct my thought-shaping. With the face of a child at my disposal, who would imagine the manipulative terror lurking beneath innocent blue eyes? But as my eyes got older and my body with it, I soon realized the need to create fresh disguises. So with my knowledge of sculpture, I built myself a fine array of masks.
Oh, they were fantastic! They must have been magical! They brought me anything I wanted. Many people liked the happy mask. Some liked the quiet one, the face they felt they could trust. Some even liked the fierce one that often spoke about taking on the world.
I never took my masks off. Exchanged one for another, sure. But for the longest time, I never caught a glimpse of the face beneath.

One day, I happened to be switching masks within view of a mirror. I'd always liked mirrors; we felt like kindred spirits. Suddenly I was curious. It had been so long since I had seen my real face; I wondered how it had changed over the years. So I closed my eyes and set my mask on the table.
Would I be ugly? Or beautiful?
Unable to resist temptation any longer, my eyes snapped open.
Horrified, I tried to scream.
But there was no mouth to open. No eyes to see.
Wiped clean; a blank slate. No face.
To this day, the memory haunts me. That first confrontation of the void.
Of course, I believe I understand why it happened now...wearing masks for so long had worn down my face. My eyes, not being used, had sunk into my head and disappeared. My mouth, unable to speak, had closed and sealed long ago.

I continued to use my masks. I knew not how to live without them. The sight of my face, or lack thereof, would be crippling to many. Every emotion was carefully considered before being worn, just as before. Masks went on and came off, day after day, week after week, year after year.

Alone, I began to confront the emptiness where I should have been.
My eyes looked like this, I remembered, tracing the shape in the sand at my feet. I saw things like this. And my mouth was like this...and I spoke and thought like this...
Remembering how I used to be was only a step in my new journey. Now was the time to put my sculpture skill to the ultimate test. I had to fashion a new self from scratch, using nothing I had known before. I had to create something I had never seen, never felt, never heard of. Something completely new.
I had to allow it to form without touching it. Time would be the sculptor. Time, the meticulous master of all, the grand healer.
It would take a while.
A long while.

The masks have grown thin. I continue to discover the self taking shape under them, day by day, week by week, year by year. Each experience leaves a small mark, shaping as only time can.
Soon, perhaps the masks will be gone. Wither away as they succumb to what is forming beneath.
One can only hope. I am sick of hiding.
​

 

[zephryi]

There once was a girl that lived in a glade. When she smiled, the sun smiled back. When she cried, the sun kept smiling, and she soon learned to hide in the shade of the rock so the salt wouldn't dry stiff and uncomfortable on her face before she could wipe it away.

It was a safe place; the only danger was the storms, and the leftovers of hurricanes that blew in. Sometimes she yelped as branches of trees fell around her, other times she watched from her rock, grinning as the lightening drove fear even into heartwood. Otherwise, nothing could harm her; she was the only movement in the small glade. To the trees, her footsteps were like hummingbirds' wings, her running too fast to be seen. She could have lived like that forever, poking and pondering, and running, except she heard the rustling.

They assumed a little one, a quick one, a young one couldn't understand. After all, she didn't have roots- why, she didn't have leaves! But it was her only language. True, she couldn't speak well; lips and a tongue are useless to produce those minute changes of air and crisp sounds of leaf over leaf. But it surrounded her every day, everywhere and she came to know when they spoke about the changing seasons, about the supply of water, about the storms, and the little one who used their dead branches afterwards to make forts, to make fires at night.

One day, when she had grown much bigger, and tired of clambering over her rock, of wandering through the surrounding forest amidst the never ceasing talk, she decided to try an experiment. She decided she would try to become a tree.

And she sat down in the middle of the glade, and the sun smiled down on her, and the storms and their dreadful winds beat her, and rain drenched her through and through. But she sat, and continued watching, waiting, and it wasn't until she tried to stand up that she noticed her roots, and the bark, and soon she had no eyes but slender branches, and spring green leaves barely crisp enough to rustle, and only the arms of her former self remaining, her fingers knotted up with idleness.
--
(I agree- this thread is quite enjoyable. )

 

[sybyll]

Once upon a time, there was a girl in a tall, tall tower that stood on an island in the middle of a lake. She quite liked the tower, and stayed there as much as possible, only rarely making the long journey down to the Earth below, and over the lake, to where other people lived.

The tower was so tall, it touched the sky with the pointy tip of its roof. Clouds gathered just below the topmost room in tower, so that when one looked out of the window on a cloudy day, it looked like a landscape, covered with snow, just below the window.

Sometimes the girl imagined she could jump out the window and go for a walk on top of the clouds.

Nobody really talked about the girl in the tower, but the tower itself was often remarked upon. With its smooth stone walls and height, it was quite an impressive sight. Or so, at least, thought the people who lived nearby. Not that there were a lot of them. There was a reason the tower was built where it was, after all.

One day, an explorer climbed all the way up the tower. He was very surprised to find the girl sitting at a desk by the window, writing. He looked around at the bare walls, the floor that was a bit of a mess, and back to the girl.

The girl looked up. "What are you doing in my room?" She said, arching an eyebrow.

A sudden idea struck the explorer. Of course this was the reason he was here."I have come here to rescue the fair maiden from this terribly boring and monotonous life." He said, and would have continued with something like "come away with me," had he not been interrupted.

"You have indeed come to the wrong place," the girl said dryly, "Please go away," and went back to her writing.

 

[saffyangelis]

The halls echoed eerily as he walked along, silently unaware of my presence. The roof of the hall rises steeply, revealing a maze of wooden planks crossing to form the maze-like twisting rooftop corridors and nests I called my home. I watched him silently from above, through a gap in the planks, as he tiptoed along towards the front, to the dusty box, covered in what was once a richly coloured cloth, however, now it was faded by the sun through the shattered window over-looking it, shards of bright glass still standing out here and there, casting an eerie glow of unnatural colour over the skin of the boy as he paused for a moment,listening. I shuffled slightly in my watchtowers, and the boards creaked beneath me, and he froze perfectly still for a second, his eyes staring up in fear, wide and brown in a stark contrast to the amber glow I had seen in shimmering pools reflecting my face, until taking one last glance he ran out of the hall, much to the cackles of his friends outside.

Sighing softly, I slipped out of my den, and crept along the beams to my shelf, shaking slightly at the memory of my home, my sanctuary, my little window of solitude being shattered, even if only for the briefest of moments. I know what they call me. The Ghost. The Witch-child. The freak. They are warned to stay away from here, and yet still they come, testing their bravery, always sprinting at the first sight of my unearthly eyes, the falling of a feather, the rustle of my wings, and the creak of my footsteps high above them. They do not know what I am. They fear me, and I am left alone. And that's enough for me.

I guess that's just who I am now. The ghost. Not really here, but not anywhere else either. Trapped for now, just for a little while. Until I can spread my wings and run. And that's who I am. The trapped ghost. Not for much longer though. Just a little wait, and I shall be free. And then I shall be a ghost no longer.

 

[Wisp]

Slipping inside, and closing the door, I threw off the protective garments of my soul just as readily as my overcoat and boots. Relaxing in the comfort of a well-known place, and a well-known fireplace, I sat down to kick my feet back, to take stock of all that had happened. Looking back, it seemed mean and small, the so-called accomplishments achieved along the way, accomplished from within chains. The heavy burdens stifling the joys of life, I hardly recall why they should be called joys rather than burdens. The burdens of man, and of society, crushing my perceptions and recollections alike. Although I achieve what could be considered victories, by the standards of Men, I have been horribly defeated, something precious and internal, violated, raped over and over with each passing day. Until it should come to pass, that I might take this fragile fragment of my soul, wipe off the blood, and the tears, and set it gently upon a shelf, to gather dust, and to be forgotten, that I might bask in the sweet sensatation of the absence of sensation.

However. I came today, not to put away and forget, but to retrieve that which was forgotten. That tiny inexplicable part of my soul, thrown away without so much as a backwards glance. Searching, first frantically, then methodically, I rummaged through the boxes and bags and rubbish of my mind. Find trinket after trinket of forgotten thought, but no beauty to be found. Panicking again, I tore through more recollections, until at last I spasmed, and ran back into the storm, reunited, once again, finally, with my pain.

I am... home.

 

[loveofreason]

Strange to see myself reflected in all these words... especially the ghostly, mirror, tree-like, animal, elf wandering witch ones...

we are all so similar and searching?

I don't think my feet ever touched the ground... I must make mention of the window to the cosmos and the ceaseless longing to be home... except that this body thing won't fit through the portal... and yes... for just a ghost... the world can be a heavy place.

The landscape shifts here.

Normally I would contribute. This just my kind of thread. ...but I am rather too ill with anxiety just at present.

 

[Artifice Orisit]

A tall figure enshrouded in shadows sits with a young boy to the right of him and a young girl to the left; they describe of the world around him since cannot see it for himself, he is blind to the world of the present, only able to see the future and the past.

The young ones bicker constantly; unable to see the world from the same perspective they argue over its true nature, a skill they have honed to an art form. The shadowy figure mediates occasionally and they both try to win his agreement, but he never supports one side for long.

Sometimes I have to drink alcohol, just to shut them up long enough for me to fall asleep.
People say being lonely is a horrible experience, I envy the basterds.
I'm so tired.

 

[hope]

My grammar has issues

So do I and i avoid them be retreating to my inner cave. My cave is a place of learning, devoid of imbecils. I design my works and reflect on em'. The seeds sown and grown lay their like furs. Each fur is mastery, but then I throw my furs away. I realize I still know nothing

 

[echoplex]

The engines of the past have had their say. And mystery pleads from within. Every rustling of the cage puts the fear in their eyes, that he may come again. That solitary creature that made your air to be reminiscent of gasps. How can I remember a world before this? How can I survive a world after? Take a breath and keep still.

And so we grew to walk alone. So that we may no longer fear him in the shadows. Alone just enough to escape the eyes, lest they become mirrors. And with each step our memory fades of that horrific look that perplexed an entire kingdom. That look that compelled them to build cages and tell tales of dragons with grudges. A look that turned itself into Master. That gravitational artifact of a purchased consciousness. It's all fading away. Take a breath and walk along.

How much further just to avoid the mirrors? Waiting until it is safe to see, safe from the poisoned eyes. Wondering when I will trust the clarity of the air, that precious dream that woke me in a daze of inspiration. So I look into the reflection in the water, gazing fearlessly. I look, but I cannot recognize the face. I look closer, but I still cannot see it. Have I disappeared? What would I see? How could I ever describe what I am? How could I ever tell you not to be afraid? Take a breath and try again.

 

[meshram.alok]

I Love this thread. This is a short story I wrote about 6 months ago:

That I cast a faint glow upon the walls assured me I was dreaming; that a stretching corridor lay ahead of me made me go on. The walls constituted of loose-fitting rocks, put together, it seemed, by enslaved arms. Yet, they were strong enough to keep me inside. I couldn't perceive to what extent they rose; the only illumination came from me, enabling me to see only as far as an arm's length.

This light fascinated me. I wanted to look at a mirror. I carried on, fueled by curiosity.

A few steps ahead, the walls turned slightly. The bend aggravated as I followed, leading me to a wider, more spacious corridor. This time, however, there was light: emerging from doors carved through the wall on the left. There were doors as far as I could look.

As I neared them, a babble of voices arose; multitudes of them. Each spoke in a different, idiosyncratic tongue. I couldn't decipher any of them. Nevertheless, I felt a certain joy; the glow around me brightened.

The first door led me to a cavernous room. The sole occupant stood at the center, a brilliant glow flashing from him. Every detail of the vast chamber was at its mercy. I felt a certain warmth looking at him. The boom in his voice echoed everywhere. I tried to speak; no sound escaped me. I tried gesticulating, but he didn't seem to notice me. He carried on, while I came back to the corridor, noticing that the door I came from had the brightest light of them all.

The next door, however, was as dark as the corridor. Peeking inside, I was surprised to find it contained a soul. He spoke in whispers loud enough to pierce the air around him, however, his glow was feeble. I felt awkward around him, but I tried attracting his attention nevertheless. Yet again, I failed to do so. As I was leaving, I felt the glow around him diminish further. I hurried out, haunted by the whispers.

The next door was brighter. I entered it to find not one, but many people, all tangled up with each other through a single rope. They kept pulling at their bounds, restraining everyone else further as a result. Their glows fluctuated as they did so. They kept making squeamish noise, none louder than the other. None made an effort to free himself even if he could. Nobody noticed me here either.

I proceeded to the next room, which was brighter than its predecessor. Here again were a lot of people bound among each other through a single rope. This time, however, none of them struggled, keeping to their places. They spoke in faint whispers, reminiscent of the man in the second room. Their glows had a dull quality about them, none of them brighter than any other. I didn't feel like talking to any of them, but I tried nonetheless, failing again.

The next room had a mediocre glow. I entered to find it, yet again, occupied by many people. All but one of them had extremely faint glows around them. They were wrapped in rope, all leading to one single person - the one with the bright glow. There was a palpable anguish in this room, amidst the malicious laughter of the one with the ropes. He kept pulling them, swerving his minions as he desired. The others moaned as they kept tugging at their ropes. I felt afraid, and left the room soon.

There were many more doors ahead of me, but I didn't want to go any further. I wanted to wake up - this dream was turning into a haunting nightmare - but it was then that I noticed, hung on the wall in front of me, a mirror. My curiosity arose. I made towards it with impatient steps as the image in it grew clearer.

But a strong tug stopped me; with horror I looked down to discover a thick rope around me. It kept pulling me back. The glow around me was beginning to dim. I screamed out loud. The mirror kept moving away from me.

I wanted to wake up, but I couldn't. I realised it in my struggle: this wasn't a dream at all.

 

[snowqueen]

I am the twice-cursed child of the rulers of the Kingdom of the displaced, the damaged and the mad. My mother died in childbirth and I was brought up by a cold and cruel Governess who wore a mask of kindness to all but me. At night she held me by my hair and forced me to look at myself in the mirror and say ‘you are ugly, you are worthless, you will never be loved’ before I was locked in my bedroom, cold and crying. Every year a chain wrapped itself round my heart, harder and tighter till it was so tight I could not feel it any more. My only friends were the Baker and her five rowdy children and when I could I would sneak into the kitchens and snuggle on her lap comforted by the floury smell of her clothes and the warmth of the ovens.

I spent most of the day and night in my room, alone with my thoughts of escape and longing for my mother whom I had never known and of whom no one spoke. My only comfort were my books which promised lands of wonder and places of possibility where children were loved and played happily undisturbed by cares or woes and my stories which I wrote secretly on any scrap I could find. Once a month I was taken to see the Scholar who worked writing his books in his enormous study where the walls were lined with books and there were piles of books all over the floor. He would look up over his spectacles, point to his head and say, ‘they can take everything away from you, possessions, house and country, but they can never take away what is in here’. But he was wrong.

That was long ago. There is not time or space to write of my escape, of the kind souls who removed the chains around my heart, one by one, and of the recovery of the powers of my mind. I am the twice-cursed child who broke the power of the curses, discovered freedom and made my way back home.

 

[phantome]

I sit in the center of my room, my face pale and my body weak. The darkness surrounding me, creeping closer. My memories swirl around me, filling me with dread and hurt. The pain from inside me seems to be pushing out, fueling the darkness. The feeble light from my window does nothing to dispense the gloom that engulfs me.I wrap my arms closer around myself, afraid to reach out, to be vulnerable once again.

Suddenly a person enters. Someone from whom there radiates a peace, a serenity, that repels the hurt. I raise my tear-filled eyes toward him, but yet he still stands, strong and proud, his dark eyes filled with maturity and wisdom. Fixed on me

I shakily raise myself from the cold ground, my arms trembling with the effort. It is hard, I used to tell myself that it was impossible. But filled with the knowledge that he is there, I manage. I can feel the chains that bound me to the Earth, to the darkness and the gloom, to depression and hurt dissapear. I am free.

 

[Fleur]

…that one day I decided to amuse myself by playing God. I began this game by taking a blank paper sheet and drawing two human figures, a male and a female. At first they both were just a sallow sketch, but then I added colours to the empty shapes.
The colours brought them to life: their eyes opened and their mouths twirled in smiles. I smiled back and lifted the paper to gently scissor them out, bestowing them the gift of movement. They stretched their paper limbs and opened their mouths to speak the words of gratefulness, but nothing came out. My creation was voiceless; there was something I couldn’t offer to them, something they had to earn themselves… So I let them go to find it, and, before they left, I gave them my last gift – I split my heart into two pieces and gave them to the paper folks.

So they left, and I did not know that by furnishing them my heart I have given them voice as well…

The paper female looked at the piece of the heart and felt only wrath. She couldn’t acquiesce that I gave her only a half of my heart and did not see the value of it. “Do you have the whole heart?” the paper girl asked to a random bystander. “Yes, I do,” the bystander responded, not even understanding the question.
The paper girl took the heartpiece in her hand and threw it away. “If I can’t have the whole heart, then I don’t want to have this!” she yelled to the wind, hoping it will bring this message to the one who created her. She glared at the heartpiece and turned her back to it to walk away. And, after she did this, a void invaded the place where the heart was supposed to be.
The void craved to be filled, but everything it sucked in itself made it to become even greater, so there was no hope that the void will ever be saturated. The paper girl wanted to regain the heartpiece, but it was nowhere to found; the void’s caused pain was insufferable… now the paper girl roams around the world, regretting she threw the heartpiece away.

At the same time the paper male tenderly put the heartpiece in his chest. Unfortunately, a half of the heart was not enough to bring warmth in him.
Once the paper man found a dying bird and laid his hands on its body. The bird was barely breathing, but the paper man didn’t pay any attention to the fact that the creature’s life was flickering out – the only thing he could think about was the warmth. The paper man put his head on the bird and closed his eyes…but soon after the bird blew its last breath, the warmth faded away.
When the paper man continued his journey, he ran into a group of people who were sitting around a fireplace. He slowly approached them and, when he was standing beside the people, he felt the heat which was given by the fire. “What is this?” the paper man pointed at the fireplace. “It is fire,” one the people answered and laughed at the stranger’s ignorance. “Can I sit down to warm up?” the paper man asked, and the people nodded in concurrence.
The paper man sat down; he finally felt pleased. But then a sudden breeze threw a hot charcoal at him – the paper man ignited. Others gasped in fear and confusion, but the paper man smiled as he burned – he was warm.

Me? I am still wandering in my swamp, frozen and heartless. I wait for a spring.

 

[didyouknow]

I was born in a field where the faeries played. I laughed and danced with them in the forests' ring. I cared not for the unchanging forest, the stagnant trees. We sheltered in branches when it rained, gathered flowers in spring, played flutes in summer. But still, I continued to grow.

I grew too large for trees, my hands too big for tiny flowers, mouth too large for tiny flutes. The faeries grew tired of me, too strange for games. They laughed and danced alone. I was alone in the unchanging forest. Still, I continued to grow.

I could no longer see the tiny holes in the trees, the tiny flowers, the tiny flutes. The rain became mist. I ran through the woods, but every time I moved closer to the edge, the forest moved with me. Every time, the trees remained the same distance, no matter how much I ran. Yet still, I grew.

I looked out into the fog. The same exact trees, the same exact size as they had always been. I took a step. The tree was still the same distance away. I pondered as I sat, still, silent. I stared hard into the trees, searching for an answer. Suddenly I grew no more.

I could see tiny flickers in the distance. Had the faeries returned? I stood and ran, reaching blindly. They dissipated. I sat again. Yet, the figures returned. I continued to observe from a distance, silent, still. They moved ever closer. They danced, they laughed, they played. I watched, motionless.

I lived forever like the forest, unchanging, stagnant. If I stayed completely still, I could see. They did not notice me, a part of the scenery. But I was happy to see, to understand. The brightness of their wings brought comfort to the white fog of the misty forest.

I still sit, motionless. I have become part of the forest. The faeries dance and laugh and sing and I watch and I wait and I wish.

 

[Anthile]

Inspired by Snowqueen, I decided to revive this neat thread.

Mind you that the following text is basically Ni unleashed so you probably won't understand a single sentence.

A long time ago I was human but then I was none. I was human again and I never came back.
My father told me to become a carpenter, just like our savior. To become more like him, he told me.
I learned to look for the strongest trees which would provide the best wood for the houses I wanted to build. I constructed the most impressive mansions and halls the kingdom had ever seen.
But then a tempest came to sweep it all away, everything I ever built.
No matter how often I revived my work, there was always a storm to take it away again.
So I gave up being a carpenter, a savior, and left it all behind.
I went away, came back and went away again.
On the road I met an old man. He told me of his dream. His dream of building a temple to our god.
I became a mason, helping him to fulfill his dreams of divinity within.
He taught me to look only for the most precious granite while reciting from his holy scriptures.
Only the two of us, forlornly building a sanctuary made of stone and hope alone.
But then a plague came to sweep the old man away and he left me and a ruin.
The temple of the god who failed me became a crypt.
No divinity but a rotting corpse inside.
So I gave up being a mason and left it all behind.
I went away and never came back.
On the road I met no one but in the next town I met a young lady who was a tailor by trade.
She had no dreams and mine were dead. I became her apprentice and friend.
One day she told me that her husband died in the last war and I answered that I didn't even now that there was one.
My master told me to only look for the finest and most exquisite draperies on the market.
Soon my talent for making splendid clothes became famous in the realm and I tailored for lords as well as for peasants.
But no matter how well my clothes fitted, I never did.
So I gave up being a tailor and left the lady behind.
I stayed a while in the town looking for an opportunity.
In a shady alleyway I met a jeweler. He had no dreams either but he offered me a job.
If I would bring him diamonds from the distant mountains he would remunerate me princely.
I agreed and gladly left the town before the sun came out to burn me.
On the road I met myself but nothing more.
Between all the rocks and stones searching for perfect gems, I found only imperfection.
Tired and weary I rest my head at the great ash tree and closed my eyes. No rations left.
Alternate realities faded away and suddenly there were no roads left.
I woke up in a dark cave. Only few torches illuminated the place. It was hot and muggy.
In the distance I heard the sound of a hammer, forging steel. I followed the noises.
I have been waiting for you, said the old blacksmith. A patch covers his right eye.
A cyclopean chain lay on the anvil and a mountain of infinite chain links lay all around.
Am I supposed to be your apprentice, I asked and said: I will refuse this offer.
You will be my discipline, but you will not forge metal, he
I woke up at the great ash tree and opened my eyes. Infinite roads to travel
I was a blacksmith now and ready to forge my chain.
Impossible to break.

 

[snowqueen]

I nearly missed this! Anthile - an intriguing tale! (is there something missing at the end of the fourth line from the end after 'he'?)

I love this thread - hope more people post soon.

 

[Auburn]

...as I continued to wander, I journeyed into the Cypress Forest, where it is said that the gateway to my paradise existed.

Then as I walked I heard a peculiar sound behind me. I recognized this sound. It was the sound of a fairy's wings - like the sound of a chime rustling in the breeze. I turned around and caught the faintest glimpse of a tiny head ducking back behind a cypress tree. Knowing I was being followed, I proceeded with my journey, pretending I hadn't noticed.

At night, I came upon an enormous and magnificent waterfall surrounded by an almost mystical fog. Lucky for me there was a rock in the middle of the waterfall, right at the edge. I stood in the rock and closed my eyes. Then, without warning, I jumped off the edge down the enormous drop.

The tiny fairy, which was hiding behind a tree watching me, gasped and flew quickly to the place where I had just been standing and gazed down at the waterfall with teary eyes. Then without warning I came up from behind her and captured her in my hands - creating a sort of hollow room out of the space between my palms.

The mist of illusion was a trick I had learned back when I was in my home land. Those inside the mist see those things in my imagination. She saw me jump, when in reality I never moved from the same spot. A perfect trick to force her out of hiding.

Slowly I opened my hands just to find her curled up helplessly, weeping in the palm of my hand. "You okay?" I asked, to which she flew right out of my hand. But this time she didn't hide, but stayed hovering a few feet in front of me.

"Why were you following me?" I asked with a gentle smile. She stayed speechless. Then I noticed something I hadn't noticed before. Her wings were a pinkish color. I knew that a fairy's wings changed according to their state of being. Yellow wings meat a cheerful fairy, while dark blue wings showed depression. However, pink wings were always a sign of a fairy in love...

"Is it because you like me?" I asked rather bluntly.
She began to blush profusely. She knew her wings had given it away.
"Please don't. You're a fairy, and I'm an elf" I explained.
"There's just no way..."

"I know..." she finally spoke, or perhaps sang. I couldn't discern the difference.
"but... please..." she pleaded, "may I travel with you?"
"I have no place to go... and have lost my place to return to..."

I struggled with the request for what seemed like hours. Then finally I nodded slowly, and she zoomed though the air and snuggled herself against my neck. At that moment, I didn't know what to feel.

***
​

Time passed by and the fairy, who's name was Felicity, and I grew to be best friends. Then one day I woke up and called her name but she didn't answer. So I searcher the surrounding area and finally caught a glimpse of her trapped in a cage in a horse carriage of a merchant passing by. She had been caught.

She had told me the story of how she ran away from her cruel master, and from the description she had told me, I knew this was him. He was tyrannous and coarse. There was no way I could stand against him.

So I just watched...
I just watched her being carried away...

Was there something I could have done? Why didn't I even try?
The questions plagued me for months afterward. But, as an elf, I knew I had an eternity ahead of me, and to sped it all in regret would be eternal torment. So I placed that memory behind... and silenced my affection for her...
...and continued to wander...

...will I ever make it back home...?
​

 

[Jaico]

Sorry if I'm gravedigging, but yellow's avatar inspired me...I think...

It's raining. The drops of rain splash against the window, racing down towards the earth - only to be swallowed by the ground, leaving nothing but a memory behind.

The sky is crying.

The thunder crashes, but the rain continues to fall. Why? Why is the sky crying? Because it is sad; because there is injustice in the world...

Somewhere, a parent has just left behind a child. Somewhere, someone has been unfairly robbed of their right to live. Somewhere, an innocent man walks through rows of inmates while a guilty man goes free. But everywhere, there is injustice.

-----------------

The rain falls silently on the grass in the forest clearing as if out of reverent respect for the tranquility of the glade...but, no, it is not just that. There is something more; something quite melancholy about the area. It is...as if the trees and the grass themselves join in with the heavens in letting their tears flow freely - the water flows from the leaves of the trees and the blades of the grass, to be consumed by the earth. The wind howls in mournfulness through the leaves of the trees, and then - all is silent.

There is a small rustling from the edge of the glade; a young man walks silently to the center and stops abruptly. He casts his eyes towards the skies and sighs defeatedly, as if accepting his fate. His gaze returns once more to the ground, and focuses on a small group of white flowers; amidst the dull greens and browns of the forest, the flowers stand out remarkably for their purity of colour and for their rarity - they grow nowhere else in the world, save for that one clearing...

The man begins to join the skies, the trees, and the grass. His tears come out; he is alone, and who would be able to tell in the rain? All of his memories, his broken promises, his shattered dreams - the dam is broken, and his memories are flooding out in a sudden outburst. He begins to remember once more - how his world came crashing down, how he refused to accept it - as he has done for the past five years.

But this time is different. He knows why he has come to this place which holds such deep meaning to him, and to him alone. He has come with resolve - he remembers that although there is injustice, he must work against it. A faint trace of a smile begins to appear at the corners of his lips, and his heart is bolstered by this epiphany. As he walks out of the grove for the final time, he knows that the he will never forget the white flowers.

---------------------------

It's raining. The drops of rain splash against the window, racing down towards the earth - only to be swallowed by the ground, leaving nothing but a memory behind.

The sky is crying.

The thunder crashes, but the rain continues to fall. Why? Why is the sky crying? Because it is happy; because there is justice in the world.

Somewhere, a parent is re-united with a lost child. Somewhere, someone has been given a second chance at life. Somewhere, an innocent man's name is cleared. But everywhere, there is justice.

 

[Auburn]

I'm glad you dug this back up. That was a beautiful post~
I can only let my mind wander as to what personal realities hide beneath the symbolism in your story...

Traces of who we are can be seen in our every written expression...
Sometimes clear, and other times more illusive and faint...

 

[snowqueen]

I agree - that was sublimely beautiful, Jaico. I loved this thread - I hope someone else posts soon and keeps it alive.

 

[Yellow]

Of Communes and Wallpaper

I have a story, though I am not a great storyteller, nor do I invoke striking images, so I'll apologize in advance.

For the past year, I have been living in a small, isolated town. My town, with a population of 700, is 5 miles from another, comparable town, with a very different history. 15 miles beyond that was a town that ceased to exist about 20 years ago, and now there is only a tourist memorial in its memory. To illustrate the isolation, I am 65 miles from a traffic light, and 90 miles from a supermarket store. For some reason, about 120 years ago, a small commune migrated to this area and set up a town. There are few things left from these people. A bit of technology they invented, the school building, and the house I am living in. A stone worker built my house. He went ahead of the group to dig a quarry to be filled by an artificial pond. He took the rocks and built my house. A few years later, after another project, he built the original school building. Apparently, he was a very nice, well-loved man. My landlord, a man in his 80's remembers meeting the man when he was young, and he instantly admired him. He was beaten to death in his later years by people who thought he was rich, only, he was not.

His niece and her husband inherited this house. They lived here until about 3 months before my husband and I moved in. I love this house. Except for the wallpaper, (my landlord is not a fan either). The woman who had the house was a professional wallpaperer. While her decorative taste left something to be desired, the quality of the work is immaculate. There are some rather intricate patterns, which she seamed together flawlessly. No bubbles, no bumps, no interruptions throughout the house.

It is weird. To describe the wallpaper in my bedroom, it sounds hideous in every respect. It is pink, a weird pink, and the design is a repeated white sea-shell. The shells are small enough that if I squint, it almost looks like white polka dots... but not quite. For some reason, I like it. It somehow matched my black, white and green decor. It is pretty and soothing and it took my husband and me about 3 months before we even realized that it was so kitschy. It just feels right.

Now I have a weird thing going on with my eyes. I always have. I can see perfectly any plain of vision I want, but everything else is blurry. I have to make an effort to look at something in order to see it. As a result, my sight is rather blurry when I have no objectives. You know those optical illusion books? Where you let your eyes go blurry and then an image pops out at you? Well, I rock at those because of the way my eyes work. I was lying in bed, just staring at the wall and it happened. My eyes blurred, a few shells fused together and one stripe popped out... then five down, a stripe sunk in and the pattern repeated on either side of the bed. I found I needed to be a specific distance from the wall in order to see the stripes clearly. Curious, I looked at the wall beyond the foot of the bed. There were not any stripes. There was a circle pattern half blocked by my bookshelf. I am not string enough to move it, so I had to tell my story to my husband before he would move it for me. He would call me a nut, but I put the last nail on that coffin years ago. Sure enough, there is some kind of circle pattern. However, I cannot see the whole thing at once, so I may never know what it is exactly.

More interesting to me, is how did it get there? Did the old woman put it there on purpose? Is it just a flaw in the wallpaper? When we moved here, all the children told us the old woman had crystals all around the house, and they claimed it was haunted. In over a year, neither my husband nor I have noticed anything out of the ordinary, but I was not really looking for it either. Now, there is something out of the ordinary. The commune (as far as I understand) was based on a druid-like religion. My house was like the first building built by these people, and the former owner was a direct descendent of the founding people. One of the last, because soon after the town was established, it was populated by (mostly) German immigrants who came to ranch and mine. This wallpaper could be some kind of symbol left by one of the original group's last practicing descendents.

 

[Andy]

A rambunctious and parsimonious shadow of it's former self suffering from axaphilic disorder holds a vocabulary in it's nonexistant hands, pale as the devil himself dancing in the moonlight with one thousand and thirty seven clowns and one obese gay fish, wondering if using a film quote won't be a better idea after all.

I am in a world of shit, yes, but I am alive.