29 May 2010

Hollow Heart

Title: Hollow Heart
Author: Silver Ink
Writing: Horror
Wort Count: 866
Warning: Murder, excessive blood.

There was something about killing that makes it hurt.

My hand was still around the dagger when the blood began to flow. At first it was just a trickle, a faint perception that the figure was not yet deceased Soon though, the crimson stain oozed its way through the gaps between my fingers and poured out it mineral-rich cherry waters.

So the warm liquid engulfed my hand in sanguine color. It moved over my hand quicker, implying there was still something quit alive with the corpse. Then as the skin’s color turned cadaverous and as the head from the body transferred into the crisp air, as the vivacious color stained my murderous hand., the life of my victim seemed to return. And though devoid of any vital signs, the figure was now very much alive—possibly more so than when the body had breathed and the now-pierced heart bled—because the cruel victim had taken up residence in my mind, my personal reality, and was now, dead, more alive than it had ever been; now that this dead haunted my every thought and ghosted along with my every move, it was a greater threat than it had ever been alive.

Of course, what does one do about threats? Eliminate them of course. Except there was no plausible way to injure this threat without putting me or my welfare in great peril.

It was many years after that first murder before I picked up the assassin’s role again. The first time it had been for revenge. The guy had killed an ex-crush and a good friend of mine.

The second time though, it was for the money; my wife was about to give birth, and I was nearly broke. A rich nobleman wanted his adversary killed off and offered a wealthy sum for it. With no other choice, I accepted, planning to kill the guy from a distance; maybe then I could avoid the brutal bloodiness and horrid haunting that followed.

Following the target was an easy matter. Setting up a trap was simple as well. The intended day, I set up myself in the upper loft of an abandoned barn and loaded my rifle, thinking about getting this done with quickly, collecting my payment, and returning home to my wife. I didn’t let bad thoughts overcome me, nor did I let the ghost of my first victim haunt me. I had long learned to block out that voice and wasn’t about to let it bother me. This would be done quickly, easily. Nothing to it.

As if on cue, the target strolled into the barn and dealt with the necessities of the trap. As he was about to leave, I shot him, a clear, clean shot to the head. To be sure, I crept to the other side and delivered a second shot to the chest before he was completely down.

He died.

There was something surreal to his death. Something strange. Unexplainable. To me, he just fell. I never knew if he uttered a sound that last moment, or said any last words. Probably not. It was instant. Instant death. Just a muffled bang and a fall. Fall. A final gasp of breath. And then thud. Fall.

It could have even been the wind.

I packed up my equipment. I went home. I was glad there was no haunting sensation. There would be no moths of recovery after this. I could concentrate on my kid. The client examined the scene. He paid his bill. He even gave me a tip for being swift about it. He gave me another tip for making it clean. It was, at the time. By the time the police arrived, a puddle of scarlet formed, but the client was gone and I was gone. I left. I walked home. Still there was no haunting. 

But the moment I inserted the key to the door, a ghostly sensation crept upon me. Two of them. They swirled around me in a strange ghostly dance, gray dust fogging up my sight. I brushed it away. The dust didn’t cool. The pair of ghosts continued their dance, weaving a tornado of gray around me. I tried to ignore it and opened the door.

It was a mistake. The moment I stepped in, the ghosts whisked away from me. They whirled to the master bedroom and hovered over my wife.

Then I saw the first streaks of red. Crimson splatters shooting through the gray storm.

When the dust cleared, I saw my wife kneeled by the bed, blood pouring out of her. A bloody, lifeless little corpse was lying on the ground next to her. As I passed it, a glop of thick ruby spilled out of it and spit a few droplets onto my feet. I paid no attention to it, such was my concern for my wife.

She clenched the bed with one hand, and her chest with the other. She looked me in the eyes and her face paled slightly. A soft sound escaped her, the sound of a warm breath of air on autumn morning and she collapsed against me.

Around her, the pool of cherry water grew deeper.  

Artist's Note: So I found an excerpt in my random-stuff notebook from a few months ago (paragraphs 2 and 3) and got the inspiration to elaborate. And this is what came out of it. 

In case it's unclear: The wife of the narrator (I don't dare call him a protagonist) had a miscarriage and died of blood loss. I'm sorry if it's cliche >_< 

I haven't throughly edited and revised, it, but as I was writing it, I was conscious of the elements I put into it. THIS, is why AP English Language was so wonderful. If I had written this a year before, it would have been pretty very pathetic.

More about the writing itself: Um... As a whole I think I was influenced by Sandra Cisnero's manipulation of syntax in House on Mango Street and Margaret Atwood's blunt, graphic descriptions in  The Handmaid's Tale. Both are wonderful books and I recommend them to anyone who hasn't read them ;)

So, thank you for reading and please comment! And don't forget to express your opinion on the character mini-poll if you haven't already done so! <3

23 May 2010

Freak Show

Title: Freak Show
Author: Lewis
Writing: spinoff
Word Count: 261

"Here we are," The ringmaster puffed himself larger, almost beaming with sick pride. "Here we are. This'd be one of our most popular exhibits- the Limbless Child!" The man drew back the curtain-

The audience drew a collective breath of surprised gasps and horrified shrieks. There she was. He had barely managed to keep down the meager contents of stomach through the past couple of exhibits so far, but this time he emptied them over the floor at his feet. "Hey!" the scandalized woman sitting to his right hissed. "You're blocking my view of-!"

-his girlfriend, glassy-eyed and looking quite pale- and much scrawnier than he had last seen her. Her hair had been cropped short, and true to her stage name, her arms and legs were indeed missing. At her arm and leg sockets, there was nothing but smooth skin. It was as if she'd been born limbless- but he knew otherwise. Only he, in this audience of jeering clowns, had seen this girl when she still had her arms and legs, when she was normal as normal as the audience was-- no, that would be wrong. People who only saw a spectacle in this tragedy of a girl were not normal. How could he be so stupid as to stand amongst them? He finally found his voice and stood.

"Camilla!" he screamed, his voice nearly hoarse from exhaustion. "Camilla! It's me, Ian! Camilla!"

But even as his voice valiantly rang out and faltered, the Limbless Child didn't bat an eye or even twitch to the unfamiliar timbre of it.

21 May 2010

"Angelic" excerpt 01

Title: --none--
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Story Excerpt
Word Count: 1263 

"Hush," he murmured quietly. "It is wrong to acknowledge those who have been deemed nonexistent."


"It is a complicated matter," he said, again shushing her with his hand. "I will explain later." 

Julian obeyed and shut her mouth before she said anything. The dwarves around her continued to stare through the person who had just been banished. The outcast screamed and hollered and once punched at the leader of the gathering. As if swatting a bug, the leader flicked the hand aside.

Finally, the pariah left, storming through the jeweled marble hall. A messenger had already gone to announce the decision. Slowly, as if coming out of trances, the dwarfish chiefs resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened. Jonathan leaned towards Julian again and translated:

“’The situation at hand is much worse than we have imagined, brothers. The humans have grouped with the angel-hunters and are murdering the peaceful houses as we speak.’

“’What of the elves, chieftain?’

“’Surely their Council is gathered in discourse similar to ours, Latvok.’

“’Who are they who sit yonder and watch this discussion?’”

Julian, who had been watching the dwarf chiefs as they talked, identified the speaker and stood immediately. She bowed politely to the table, her left palm over her right fist and her head inclined, and waited for the chieftain to tell her to rise. Beside her, she felt Jonathan do the same.

The chieftain nodded at them and said something terse that Julian recognized as the short version of the formal, “Your greeting has been acknowledged, my child; now take your stance as my equal and converse your message.” Essentially, he meant “Rise,” and that Julian did.

Next, the chieftain turned to the table and said something in dwarfish which Jonathan promptly translated as “’He is Jonathan of Winski, translator and companion for her, Julian of Winchester.’”

The chiefs’ reactions were immediate; so confusing was the next couple minutes that Jonathan could only translate a few of the exclamations: “’Winchester, can it be so?’
‘I thought the family had been murdered a decade ago!’
‘Another Winski?’
‘Do mine ears deceive me? A Winchester?
‘The angelic family?’
‘A Winchester? Alive and well?’”
The chiefs peered at Julian amazedly and some even inclined their heads in respect.

What’s happening? She thought, confused and embarrassed as she bowed briefly to each chief that looked her way. Of the 12 dwarfs, only one—the chieftain himself—did not glance her way.

The chieftain said something to Jonathan and the boy bowed before telling Julian in soft tones as the chiefs busied with their writing tables, occasionally consulting each other: “The chieftain has seen your confusion and asked me to explain to you the situation while the chiefs debate other matters.

“During the Firestorm Wars, eight of the dwarf clans had already been forced into hiding. Of the remaining four, one was secretly sheltering and helping the refugees that had escaped this way. The other three were in grave danger of being attacked by the zombies and the flying beasts of the war—the Vurgians. The dwarf clans had been cut off without warning and although they could battle, they knew they could not win. In a desperate move, they teleported child diplomats to the cities of the angelic, elvish, and draconic conferences.

“The angels at the conference were the closest people at the time, although the negotiations between angelics and dwarfs were bitter at the time. Of the nine heads of houses, only one—your grandfather—was willing to send aid of any kind.

“Eliam Winchester was a little-known general at the time and at the conference, it was decided that if he were to aid the dwarfs, he would have to do so with his own resources; nevertheless, he sent swift word that he would do his best to assist.

“The dwarfs were devastated. They were cornered and trapped, and no one but a single man was willing to help them; the elves had not received the message and the dragons were unable to assist. Already all the other clans were striving to help the three clans the best they could and armies were marching for the city of Turingskien, but it was of little use.

“Of Eliam’s 5,000 warriors, 50 agreed to go. Since Eliam himself could not come, his wife volunteered to go in his stead.

“After travelling at an unbelievable traveling speed for nearly a week, the 51 angels arrived in the midst of battle and helped to scare the zombie hordes away. If you want, I’ll detail the tricks they used later. Just know that 51 angels and 12,000 dwarfs drove an army of nearly 40,000 zombies and Vurgians away from Turingskien in a series of clashes that lasted probably over a month.

“For basically saving a fourth of their kind from ruthless and annihilation, Eliam Winchester and his wife Idwien was extolled among the dwarfs. Their opinion of him increased heightened even more so when after the war, Eliam himself came to join his wife and remaining warriors and oversee the reconstruction of the areas that had been razed. From his personal coffers he donated well over a half of the money towards the reconstruction.

“Thirty-five years after the war, when your grandfather had been stripped of his title for disobeying the Council and made little more than a peasant, the dwarfs stuck a vast mine deep in the mountains. From Eliam Mines they garnered more wealth than ever before seen in history. With their intervention, Eliam and the Winchester House was returned to their noble rank and former wealth. The following century was met with great friendship between the dwarves and the House of Winchester.” Jonathan closed his eyes briefly as he concluded his lengthy anecdote and took a long drink of water as Julian pondered this.

The dwarves disbanded for midday and Julian wandered outside, acquired her meal and strolled about the richly decorated dwarven capital. Jonathan followed silently for a while before leading Julian to a cavern.

“The Hall of Heroes,” he read and greeted the guards. They let them pass and Julian strolled quietly down the dim cave, fascinated by the various glittering shields and plaques and inscriptions.

“Here,” Jonathan called softly and Julian went to where he was standing, staring at a wall.

On the wall was a large chunk of obsidian rock, embellished with precious gems along the edge. Dwarfish runes spelled out in large print over the top and below them were 50 names inscribed in the stone, each with a small pink topaz before and after. Over the top, in diamond was the name, “Eliam Klaus Winchester”. Another plaque made of gold, diamond and ruby honored the general only.

Julian stared transfixed at the names for a long while, reading the 50 names that were spelled in angelic common there. Layana Nion, Nicodemos Palazar… Jeriline Suza, Ritcher Than… Roselyn Thyt, Rafi Winski, Francisca Zailier…I know some of these names!...Famous people my master on Earth taught me about…

She finished the list of names and walked another step, to where Jonathan was standing before a large tapestry, woven of silk with a single sapphire embedded between the reason of the award and name. Words had been embroidered on in the dwarfish language, with angelic, elvish and draconic translations in tiny font underneath. Julian squinted and depicted the angelic translation:

For leadership, wit and knowledge of medicine at desperate times,
For alone saving more than 2,000 lives during a month of combat,
For fighting valiantly while with child for no gain,

Idwien Nautium Sirica-Winchester

Artist's Note: So much to say/explain about this. I was toying with ideas for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) and decided to try some stuff out. Obviously, since it's not November, this will not be an actual part of the story. I was just tossing ideas around. In case I feel tempted to post more excerpts, I labeled this one as "01"

This particular part started with a random status message I had. It's really unorganized as an excerpt, and maybe confusing at parts. Especially the way it ends. But whatever -.-

Julian Winchester is definitely going to be the protagonist, though I haven't determined what the boy's name will be; I put Jonathan because that was the first boy name that began with a "J" I came up with. Suggestions would be appreciated >.< (Requisites: Begins with a "J" and somehow  related to an element. (His cousins are Kassium (K; Potassium), Argent (Ar; Argon, although Argent actually means Silver) and Lithica (Li, Lithium) ) 

Anyways, please comment! :D

16 May 2010

The Pilot

Title: The Pilot
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Short Story/ character background
Word Count: 517
Warning: Profanity. 

“Look here, I’m only here to get you to wherever the hell you need to go and help you finish the damn mission,” the pilot snapped at the passenger behind him as the small craft wove through the air, gaining altitude. “So unless you have questions, shut up.”

“Maybe you should, Wen,” the assassin snarled back, leaning forward. “Technically I could report you as disrespecting your elders”

“Yeah? Well technically I could crash this piece of shit.”

“You’d die too,” the teenager laughed, leaning back.

“Want to bet?”

The other was silent.

“Thought so,” Wen muttered as he made a sharp turn left.
My name wasn’t always just Wen. But I’ve forgotten my real name anyways, so it’s good as anything.

I was abducted when I was four, from Ireland. All I remember is that I was getting milk for someone—I think her name was Mrs. Samson, but I can’t be sure—when a man in a dark suit hopped out of a helicopter and picked me up. He neutralized me with a shot and when I next woke up, I was lying in a barrack in China, filled with kids not much older than me.

I guess Mrs. Samson didn’t get her milk.

They didn’t ask me for a name, but I made one up anyways. Quick thinking, yes, that was it. Some kid had told me about a “ dark gathering of waters” and I translated it—the first word in Irish, the second part in French: Wisconsin Tynan.

Most of the kids couldn’t pronounce Wisconsin. So I used the Chinese word for culture: Wen.

I was flown around in planes, to learn to be an assassin. Now I fly those planes, to take assassins to their mission locations.

“You can wake up now,” the pilot called, landing the tiny craft in a field behind a hill. He waited a moment before cutting the engine and hoping out of his seat to the back. “Oi. Up.”

The passenger opened his eyes and glared at the kid pilot.

“I’ll keep in touch via the glasses,” the pilot said, pointing at the dark glasses tucked in the assassin’s pocket.

“Where’s the target?”

Wisconsin leapt back over the seat and into the cockpit. He brought up a series of maps and charts and files. “Got it. I’ll wire you a map.”

The assassin nodded and flung himself stealthily out of the craft. He put on his glasses and grabbed a hoverboard. “Thanks. See you later,” he said,  flying towards the city.

Turning off the screens, Wisconsin started the craft again and flew to a more hidden location before checking back in.
I don’t get paid much. I get my life, three meals a day, what I need for my missions, a blanket, and a pillow. During my time off, I like to fiddle with warships and hack whatever I can get my hands on.  Of course, I don’t always have something to fiddle with or hack. Those times, I practice my aim. The recoil on most guns throws me off a bit.

I’m 12.

Artist's Note: This week's post, a bit late, sorry

He's a new character i thought up only today for a roleplay and was inspired to write something short. It isn't as complete as I thought or hoped, but I think its...ok. 

Regarding the mini-poll, please post your opinions and stuff on the post itself. :)

EDIT: "Wisconsin" means "Gathering of waters" in French (derived from a Native American word though) and "Tynan" means "Dark" in Irish. So it's a bit reversed :p


11 May 2010

If I weren't a UALB

Title: If I weren't a UALB
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Rant
Word Count: 604

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t roleplay.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would have  had my chemistry homework done over 24 hours ago.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t be worried about AP tests at all.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would have a lot more stuff written.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t be hoping that by some random miracle I get into UCI.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would have better grades.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t be worried about AP tests because I would be well prepared for all of them.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would be done with another project in Photoshop.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t have spent so much time downloading a MMORPG. 
If I weren’t a UALB, I would have figured out how to get Maya 2008 for Mac by now.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t be hoping that  by some random miracle I get into UCI because I would be absolutely sure I could and would get it.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would be doing research on whatever strikes my fancy.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t have spent so much time figuring out how to download a MMORPG correctly.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would have defined that UCI stood for University of California Irvine before I started ranting about it.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t have spent so much time figuring out how to download a MMORPG correctly and then downloading it wrong anyways.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would get a lot more sleep each night.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t be worried about AP tests because I would be overly- prepared for all of them.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would have edited this rant so that the definition of UCI came before my ranting of it.

If I weren’t a UALB, I wouldn’t be awake at 00:30 on a school day.

If I weren’t a UALB, I would have a cleaner, more organized room and workspace.

If I weren’t an UALB, I wouldn’t have only just realized that “a UALB” is grammatically incorrect.

If I weren’t an UALB, I would go back and fix all those “a UALB” mistakes now.

If I weren’t an UALB,  I wouldn’t be writing this right now.

But I am an UALB, and I am writing this right now, I did just realized that that “a UALB” is grammatically incorrect, I am awake at 00:30 on a school day, I did spend so much time figuring out how to download an MMORPG and then downloading it incorrectly multiple times anyway, I am worried about AP tests, I do roleplay, and I hoping that by some random miracle I get into UCI.

But I am an UALB and I have not fixed all those “ a UALB” mistakes, I did not define UCI before ranting about it, I am not getting optimal sleep each night, I did not figure out how to get Maya 2008 on the Mac, I am not researching about whatever strikes my fancy, I did not get much more writing done, I am not getting better grades, I did not finish another project on Photoshop, and I am not done with my chemistry homework.

I am an UALB and while I don’t have the ability to do 75 chemistry problems in 48 hours, I can whip up a 604 word rant in half an hour.

I am, unfortunately, an UALB.

*Note: An UALB is an Useless And Lazy Bum.

Artist's Note: "And if I weren't a UALB, I would have defined a UALB before I wrote this rant."

Hello! This was written about a week back, and I've only gotten around to posting it now >.<

Since no one commented on the mini-post thread, I can't exactly start another profile project =.= So please, if you have any characters whose backgrounds you'd like to read, or any questions, please comment there! :) :)
~SilverInk <--is back!