A thousand apologies!

A thousand apologies is right, tomorrow is Forgiveness Vespers (aka the beginning of Lent). Some part of me wants to run away from this - wants to seek refuge in another religion that doesn't require fasting. Unfortunately, I know of no such religion - that I would like to become, that is. Without further adieu, the long awaited manuscript I was inspired to touch. I'd like to see if you can tell what it is. I have changed a majority of the "normal" names because they were, well, normal. Too normal.


Prologue

Master Al’ead took the small figurine out of a leather pouch and ran his rough hands over its worn surface. He pressed his lips to it and held it in his hand as a single tear slid down his cheek.
“Myra,” he whispered. “My love, I am eternally sorry. I will atone for it.” A hand knocked against the wooden door to his room. His eyes opened. He gently placed the figurine in his pouch and walked to the door. “Who is it?”
“Adela, Master Al’ead,” came the reply. Al’ead opened the door and a small, dark-haired girl wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Adela, child,” he whispered, sitting her on his cot. “What is the matter?”
“Father,” she sniffled. “Father came to me and said that the Duke wished to see me wed to his son. His son is near ten years older than you, Master Al’ead! But then he and Mam got in a fight, and Mam was saying that we should wait until I was ten-and-four before we considered a marriage proposition. And Father said that then it would be too late to make such a good deal. And he slapped my mother for her intolerance and stupidity.” Adela continued to cry, sobs shaking her small body.
“Shh, Adela,” he soothed. “Be still, child.” She looked at him and cried harder. Master Al’ead thought quickly of a way that Adela would he put at peace. “Would you like a story, Adela? To take your mind off of it? I am sure that your father will heed your mother’s advice.”
“Yes, Master Al’ead,” she whispered hoarsely. Master Al’ead stood and brought Adela a small cup of water to her.
“Do you know the story of our lands?” he asked.
“No,” she answered.
“Well, before the division of the lands, we were one: Mec, Theo, Dragon Island, Kila, Nethalat, the Kar Nar Islands, the Desert Islands. All the countries bound with a loyalty, love, and respect for one another, but there was a man whose hunger for power drove him to begin the divide. Da’lea was his name. Da’lea began spreading lies about each country to pin them against each other with the help of his wife. He was, for the most part, successful.” Master Al’ead reached into the leather pouch tied to his belt. He pulled out the small figurine. “Here she is,” he showed her. “She was a very beautiful woman, and he had, at one point, loved her more than life itself. However, now he began to view her as a tool.” Master Al’ead stopped his story, his grey eyes transfixed on the figurine in the girl’s hands.
“Master Al’ead,” she questioned. “Are you alright? Master Al’ead?” He blinked and smiled quickly at Adela.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Anyway, he began to seize control of the islands with the help of his mistress, you see, she was a witch. Together, they created war and chaos amongst the islands. Eventually he came to rule the islands, for they saw him as a way out of the violence. He was a horrid leader. Finally, diplomats from the other islands decided that enough was enough. They met Da’lea and his mistress at the Lost City.
“The four couples stood hand in hand at the center of the City. Silver rain crashed down on them and lightning stroked the skies like a paintbrush on canvas. Da’lea clenched his teeth at the others, yelling that this land was made for war and war shall be its destiny.
“The man leading the four couples responded ‘I will not let you do this. I will not let you destroy this land with your lust for power.’ Da’lea replied, ‘I had no need to destroy this land, it destroyed itself.’ He then commanded his mistress, ‘Do it, do it now.’
“The mistress began a rhythmic dance, a wicked chant escaping her lips. Snakes rose up from the ground and killed the four couples where they stood. His mistress held the darkness in her hand, but even the darkness suffers when life is taken from the earth. After all were dead, she ceased her vile dance and collapsed unto the floor as the darkness tried to recover its life force. Try as she might to help the force, her work was to no avail. The guilt of murdering eight people in cold blood came crashing down. The guilt and the force became so much that she died as well…” Al’ead stopped his narration when he saw that Adela slept. He laid her on his cot next to the fire and covered her with a wool blanket. He sat on the ground and leaned his back on the cot. He stared into the fire.
“Please, Master Al’ead, continue with your story,” Adela said quietly, touching his shoulder with her small, warm hand.
“I will, I will,” he whispered, taking her hand in his. “The wicked man was… grieved… to see the one person he loved and who loved him lying dead. He began grieving as no man ever had. He began to repent his evil ways. He began a simple life, not wanting or lusting after power. Deep inside, the man hated himself, cursed himself, for killing the only people who brought peace to the Islands. As much as he tried, the lands would not stop their war. He prowled the land and the sea in search of peace and of death. He grew old searching. He grew old…but would not die.
“The darkness made the man prowl the earth – sometimes in the guise of a young man, but other times as an old one. Even now he prowls the earth…” Master Al’ead stopped. He turned to see the child sleeping peacefully. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “And that man changed his name, moving the letters once to the right: Da’lea, Al’ead,” he whispered. “That man is me, Adela. Would you forgive me if you knew?”
Master Al’ead stroked Adela’s cheek where her tears made little dried streaks. Al’ead gathered her up in his arms. He carried her back into her room and, as he closed the door, silent tears fell down his cheeks. The morning afterwards, Master Al’ead took his leave of the castle. He was never seen again in Nethalat.

Now - which of my many manuscripts do you think it is???

POTATOES!!!!
Asiat.

The End.

Hello there, bloggetts. So, we're ending the 2000's. And it's not every year that I can say that with such pride. I've gone through everything from moving to preschool to moving again to homeschooling to moving into the attic to middleschool (aka hell) to suicidal thoughts to realizing the pain of death to self-discoverment to writing to art to music to highschool. It's been a hectic, awesome ten years. I remeber the party I went to when I was four to celebrate the new millenia. The start... and now it's 2009 and we've reached the end.

You know what brought this wacko post? I read one of my friend's post on the past years and hopes for the new year. But first the resolutions... the little things I want to do and change about myself for a better me:

THE RESOLUTIONS>>>
1) that I stop being a coward - more active (as is appropriate) in everything, you know, politically, culturally, religiously.. etc.
2) that I spread the peace and love like a creepy hippie :)
3) that I make time for the things and people I love: writing, art, music, design, friends :)
4) and that I might possibly, pretty please, start eating and exercising more healthily!

AND THAT'S IT!

But here, we go...

Large Scale
What word will define the 2000s? Discovery.
What was the most significant political event of the 2000s? The election of Barack Obama, I suppose.
What was the greatest TV series of the 2000s? Something between Castle and NCIS and Criminal Minds and Ugly Betty.
Greatest Tragedy of the 2000s? War, 9/11, abortion.
Most influential person of the decade? um - NO IDEA.

Personal
Of the ten years of the last decade, which one was your favourite? 2009: my happiest, best, most defining year yet.
Which was your least-favourite? 2007. seventh grade = hell.
Was it a life changing decade for you? YES. I grew up in this decade. I'm changing everyday, every second.
Highlight of the 2000s? Traveling, family bonding, friend bonding, love, music, health, memories.
Lowlight of the 2000s? moving (to Pittsburgh - it started out as a low, then ended as a high) and 7th grade where people had to "watch" me a lot...
Are you happier or sadder? happier. I've gone through a lot and made it out alive. Defo changed for the better.
What do you plan to tell your grandchildren about? what I've learned. How life sucks, and, though you may want to die, you need to live for those who love you; that following your dreams is started by taking ONE step - following them is important for life!

The Future
What is your greatest fear for the coming decade, on a global scale? that we will loose our value of life. fresh water. respect for others.
What is your greatest fear on a national scale? the healthcare that will pay for abortions. it isn't right - never will be!
What is your greatest fear on a personal scale? That I'll never be able to go all those places I've wanted to go - that I'll never be able to be the globe trotter, my dream. that my books will never be published... or my art never loved by anyone but my friends...
What is your greatest hope for the coming decade, on a global scale? For some kind of youth revolution. that the youth will realize just how much power we wield and how we can expand and live!
What is your greatest hope on a national scale? that we realize that we have to help our own nation before taking on the world. let's feed the hungry here before we feed the worlds.
What is your greatest hope on a personal scale? Financial stability; college; book publishing and art selling frenzy.

WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR THE NEW YEAR? RESOLUTIONS? HOPES? :D COMMENTOS!

A.

Three Piles of White Ash

my revised scary story for hnrs. eng. I. tell me if you like it!!!

Curtained in long lashes and eyelids shadowed in black, the woman's eyes were closed. She lay on the floor of the forest, the dead, lifeless trees stretching into eternity before her. Her bloodless face the palest of whites and her body covered in a ruby red cloak. Her long hair, tangled with twigs and leaves, fell about her face. Lips the color of blood whispering to the grey sky, dusk approaching as quick as the desperate whispers; she was whispering.
The man watched her seemingly lifeless body, waiting for her to breathe. She is whispering, he thought. She is whispering, but not breathing. It didn't seem possible, but there she lay, still as a lifeless corpse, whispering without breathe. He gasped as she sat up. He watched, enticed by her beautiful face to look onwards; he admired the perfect face.
She looked at him through her closed eyelids, but suddenly that sight was not enough. She stood up. She opened her eyes, expecting to see his horrified face turn and run. He stood still watching her, his face even. She saw more clearly his face, his closed eyes. She gazed, shocked.
He saw her eyes and felt the urge to run. They were the same kind. He approached her, touching her face as it hung awkwardly from her neck in the position of a dead person, touching her face around her white eyes. She responded by touching his closed eyelids and swerving uncomfortably, disturbingly. He ignored the burn he felt when he touched her skin.
She watched with certain fascination as he opened his eyes. She looked into the whiteness that lay between his eyelids. She felt the burn where he touched her face. Her red lips pressed into a smile, the burning felt good. She reveled in the touch of his long, elegant fingers. She picked a twig from his dark, tangled hair. She ran her fingers along his red lips. She barely noted that his head was hanging awkwardly from his neck. Watching his face with an upsetting amount of attentiveness, she did not notice the moon rising.
But, then, he did not see the moon rise either; he saw nothing but her glorious face.

OKAY... i'll post the rest later... i got dance!!!

Because sometimes, all you need is a dream...

And this story, here, is the fulfillment of simple things I've always wanted to do. I've always wanted to dance on the rain, and go to camp on a farm, and have to wear 'girly' clothes (I know that's a stretch, but sometimes I'd love to pull off being kind of Indie), and manage all these guy friends (NOT something I'm good at), and have this poetic ability to step back when I really would like to snap a certain annoyance's head off. This is the embodiment of dreams. My FAV <3


The rain pattered on my roof. I looked at Jane, my best friend, sleeping on the couch in my room. I saw the rain racing down the window in crystalline streams. I looked back at Jane, then out the window. I made my decision and pushed up the window stepping out on the roof. Scaling down the terrace, I wondered what Jane would think when she saw my bed was empty. Maybe I’d be back by then. The rain was cold and wet and felt so good on my skin. I stepped out the back gate and into the alleyway, twirling in the rain.
The moon wasn’t covered by the rain; rather it was amplified by the rain. I spun around with my eyes closed at the droplets fell down my arms, legs, and torso; I breathed deeply. After waking up from the haze, I slid back into my backyard and climbed the terrace to return sitting on my roof. Jane knocked on the window. I smiled and waved for her to come out.
“Hey there, I was wondering where you went,” she said, climbing out. “Dancing in the rain?”
“Yeah, just did it impulsively,” I said. Jane looked at me as if I were crazy. Maybe I was. She smiled softly. “Look,” I pointed. “There’s Matt.” I pointed to a car’s dimmed lights pulling into the driveway down the street.
“There’s Matt,” she echoed. The rain pulsed her hair into her face and I brushed it away.
“You missed him, didn’t you,” I commented. She nodded, blinking fast. “Don’t worry, he’s here now.”
“Yeah, I’m glad he is.”
“Let’s go back inside, Jane,” I suggested. “I need to change.”
“Same here,” she said quietly.
With that, we climbed back down into my room and grabbed towels from my bathroom.
“What’s it feel like?” I whispered.
“What?” she asked, surprised.
“Love. Remind me,” I replied.
“It’s like – whenever he sees me, he smiles so wide and you can see that he really is happy to see me. And whenever he claims me as his, my chest puffs out like a rooster’s and I can’t contain my happiness; I feel so happy just to know that I love him.” Jane looked at me and touched my shoulder. “He was a jerk, Claude. Forget him.”
“Kind of hard to,” I said bitterly. “He was my first. He’s still mad for no reason at all. Guess he can’t get over it. I’d like to be friends like we were.”
“It’s Tom, Claudia,” she tried to console my guilt. “Tom never gets over anything.”

Comments? Questions? Need for plot development? Email me, txt me, COMMENT!!!!
Much Love,
Asiat

not much :(

Simon Lex was a man of few words, fewer friends, and even fewer ambitions. He was tall, lanky, and somewhat nerdy; he had grey eyes, pale skin, and dark brown hair. He spoke only when he had something to say. He worked as a consultant and investigator with police and was extremely popular because of it. And all this was unwanted recognition and fame.
For some unfathomable reason, women were attracted to him, even though he was extremely uncomfortable with most of them.
“I am quite busy, Miss,” was all he would say to the girls who called for his attention, looking through his specs and over his book. Women, in truth, felt secure around him – but, was there any woman who wouldn’t? He was, after all, responsible for putting eighty criminals behind bars.
Simon Lex would seem to many as a man without a home, but this was not so. He lived with his school mate, Tom Goldings. Tom Goldings shared the inherited house with his sister, Harriet ever since their parents murder twelve years previously. Lex had solved the murder when he was just seventeen. And, despite this tragedy, they were all the best of friends – even though Simon’s fancy for Harriet provided for some awkward situations.

All I've got for now, girlies!
<3>

Vortican, check your inbox!!!

Okay, I give up on the Oakland/HighSchool post - it's much too hard to take pictures of Oakland when you're on a moving bus that wants to kill you. :( It's also very weird when people stare at you because you're taking pictures of yourself or them...

BUT, i continue my grand quest of posting Kristy's Story. And, like i said, Vortican CHECK YOUR INBOX!!!! you too, ECPM! you'll find a summary in there and the "final scene". *MUCH SPOILERS*

While the others laughed over scrambled eggs, I quietly walked upstairs. Allan was still sleeping peacefully. I brushed the hair away from his face and marveled at his perfect boyish complexion. I knew that from the day he was born to the day he died, he would be the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me. He was the greatest miracle I could have ever received. I sat on the bed next to him, just looking at him.
There was a knock at the door.
“May I come in?” Emilia asked. I nodded. She came and stood by me. “He’s a marvelous-looking boy. Going to be a killer with the ladies, I see.” I just smiled.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “He’s a killer already. Killed Alice and me.” Emilia patted my shoulder.
“Where’s his father in all this mess?” she said. “It’s a shame.”
“It is a shame,” I said coldly.
“I’m sorry,” Emilia said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No,” I said “You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wondering if you still were offering to help around here. Jack saw some questionable people hanging around. He thought that it would look more normal if you would do something. I told him I’d ask, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No,” I said. “I want to do something to help. You’ve already saved our lives. That’s a debt not so easily paid. What do you want me to do first?”
“I thought you’d say that,” Emilia smiled. “I’ll go get some clothespins and the wet laundry. You see, in the country, we still air-dry our laundry.”
“My only request is that somebody stay with Allan,” I said.
“Well, Chief said one of the boys gotta’ stay with you, the other’s gotta’ stay with Allan,” she explained. “So that’s taken care of. Let me call Jack to take the first shift with Allan. In four hours Jack and Allan’ll switch. Okay?”
“Sure. Now where’s that laundry?”


<3>

Much Love, my girls,

A.

More, More, More...

We have a while before I have to switch to the "new" story (that I told Vortican about...). I'll probably do a post about highschool within the next week (when stuff like pictures of Oakland are taken...)

BUT till then, more Kristy's story. And, c'mon guys!!!, I NEED A NAME!!!

I slipped into a nightgown and was surprised at just how exhausted I was. I fell in and out of sleep anyway and woke up before five. I took my shabby bathrobe and bundled myself in it and went downstairs.
“Oh, I didn’t think anyone was awake besides me.” I gasped and turned, but it was only Jack. “Do you want some coffee?” he asked. I nodded.
“How did you get here so early?” I asked, leaning on his mother’s kitchen counter.
“I sometimes sleep on the couch, when mum let’s me,” he explained. “Besides, Chief told me I was supposed to stay. What do you want?”
“Milk and two sugars,” I replied. “I feel like I’m intruding. Does your mum do this often?”
“She used to, back when dad was alive,” he said, stirring the coffee. “Dad would bring all manner of people – criminals and judges, too – home and somehow they all behaved. They said it was because my mum didn’t take nonsense.”
“I’m sure,” I said wryly.
“She didn’t,” Jack said honestly. “Never, ever.”
“Hmmm,” I said, mocking thoughtfulness. “At least Allan won’t get spoiled here.” He laughed. “I’m serious. Alice would… Oh Alice.”
“C’mon, the hospital’s open now,” Jack said. “Mum’s got a telephone for emergencies, so you can call ‘em. See how Ms. Brown is.” He got up and called the hospital up on the telephone.

“Hello?”
“Hello, I’m calling to inquire about Ms. Alice Brown,” I said, trying to be really nice. “About her condition.”
“And who is inquiring?”
“Ms. Kristy Clare,” I answered.
“Okay. Ms. Brown is in stable condition.”
“And?” I asked.
“I can’t disclose this information with anyone but the family. I’m sorry, have a nice day.” Then I heard her place the telephone back.


I sighed, somewhat disappointed.
“I don’t think they’ll let me see her,” I whispered. A tear fell from my cheek and I whipped it away quickly.
“What’s that?” Jack asked, handing me a hot cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” I said. He nodded. “I said that I don’t think they’ll let me see Alice ‘cause I’m not family.” I gulped the coffee down.
“I’m sorry ‘bout that,” he said, smiling gently.
“It’s alright,” I replied.
“Hey, there,” Andy Mercy said, coming down the stairs. “Your mum’s coming down the front steps, Stork.” Andy poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Andy,” I smiled.
“Morning, Ms. Clare,” Andy smiled.
“Jack! Get over here!” Mrs. Wilson cried. Jack rolled his eyes; patted Andy’s back and left.
“Where you from, Andy?” I asked.
“I’m from the slums,” he answered. He got up and poured himself some coffee. We clinked cups.
“’Morning, Andy, Kristy,” Mrs. Wilson hollered, coming into the kitchen. “How are you two on this fine and dandy morning?”
“I’m well, Mrs. Wilson,” I smiled. “What about you? Is there anything I can do to help around here?”
“Don’t worry about doing nothing, Kristy,” Mrs. Wilson said, rubbing my shoulders. “We’re all family here, so eventually I’ll use you for somethin’. And call me Emilia, or Em, please.”
“I’m sure there’s something I can do around here,” I said, eager to help. If this woman was going to risk her life to save me, the least I could do was some household chores. “The dishes maybe?”
“Maybe, Kristy,” Emilia laughed. “Maybe.”


Good? Commentos? Have fun!

Ciao, Darling gals :P

Asiat.