|Thursday, July 19th, 2007|
11:18 am - ..
hi, i´m new at livejournal and my english is bad.. :D|
well, i don´t know what i have to do :P
i like hubert selby jr. and i want deabte with somebody.. i hope i manage it :D
current mood: optimistic
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|Monday, May 8th, 2006|
4:27 pm - The Break: Charlie Charnel
|Sunday, May 7th, 2006|
1:47 pm - Automagic Adventures: The Needle Knight
|Thursday, April 7th, 2005|
|Wednesday, January 19th, 2005|
Hey I'm new here. Today I don't feel like breaking tradition so I'll just go ahead and introduce myself. The name is Meg and I live in the middle of farmland as far as the eye can see (Nebraska). I'm a freshman in high school and I am constantly writing stories and song lyrics. Besides that, I play soccer to the point of insanity and I love every second of it. I'll try to post whenever I get a chance.|
Here is an old story I wrote nearly a year ago. I think i've come a long way since then.
( Enjoy.Collapse )
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|Monday, April 14th, 2003|
asup everybody just thought i'd introduce myself to the community.|
i am a poet/musician/anarchist what-have-you
you can see some of my prose on my journal page
or at my website....
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|Tuesday, December 11th, 2001|
11:21 am - NEWBIE
I try, I try|
But to mi dismay, She pushes me away
O why, O why
I cannot say
I've committed no heinous crimes
I'm not contraband
So why does she repudiate my love
I am not scurrilous or sleazy
And I've said some pretty irrevocable things
But that is no reason to treat me with a scathing punishment
I am not a soporific type person I am affable
I am not an insular person
But she treats me like I'm +querulous and scurrilous
Yet I stay resilient and I am sedulous
I am not brusque
Although her stinging words will reverberate in my head for years to come
I try, I try
But to my dismay, She pushes me away
O why, O why
I cannot say
Please comment on it
current mood: awake
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|Saturday, September 22nd, 2001|
This is a BtVS fanfic that I've been working on for well, I started it four hours ago. Suggestions? Compliments? Disapproval? Just comment, luv. -- E.I.|
The scene was cyclic, forever pressed on repeat and engraved in the Slayer�s psyche: Glory shoving aside Buffy� dragging Dawn away from her� from all of them. Ripping open the magical barrier Willow had cast� Desecrating the knights� within moments. Killing them with fear... Willow screaming at Buffy to get up, to fight, C�mon Buffy! You have to get up!
Only Buffy didn�t get up. This was a major impact on the Chosen One�s pride, self-worth and fighting spirit -- and for the entire world it seemed that our Slayer had lost the will to fight. No Slayer could come from an attack this close to home and get back up again. Buffy thought it would be safer if she didn�t move, didn�t breathe, didn�t say a word.
So, she didn�t.
Buffy hadn�t known or heard of any other Slayer forced to fight a Hell Goddess before, and she was certain if she didn�t get up and start fighting again that she would not be the last Slayer to do so. The only other Chosen Ones Buffy had met were either killed in combat, or too bent on violent outbursts � not the stuff Slayers meant to battle a demon god were made of.
And what are Slayers made of? Flesh and muscle and blood and bone � we�re no different than humans. Only difference is that Slayers are powerful and could die twice as easily as regular humans.
So powerful and yet so fragile. A paradox, we Slayers are.
To Buffy, the last thing her mind was able to comprehend was Dawn�s kidnapping. Then it was the sight of all those dead bodies�Warriors destined to destroy the Key�s human guise in order to save humanity obliterated with a single glance.
Dead, and for those not so fortunate, a life times worth of dementia.
Some were impaled by their own swords, others dead of pure terror as one by one Glory�s sinister aura emanated and smothered their own pitiful human souls � drowning them in fear, in mania and in some cases, death.
Buffy had remembered the horrible wrench of her heart at the sight of such carnage � the air of death still lingered around the wretched excuse for a haven, once an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of Sunnydale, and the Slayer was over come with grief. She was too intimate with death, had caused death, had lived through death, had died herself � but to see it so close with her own eyes made her realize just how precious, and frail, life is in comparison to its overwhelming brethren Death.
Good and evil. Life and death � how could Good triumph when Buffy, the supposed leader of all that was pure, caused so much death?
This was too much for her, too much�I can�t � Buffy remembered falling down� And she was still falling; though from an outside observer the girl appeared to be sitting on the ground, her eyes large and fearful, like a deer captured in headlights. Looking completely heartbroken and lost, and yet it was her duty to lead the others into battle � into death. She couldn�t do that to them, she couldn�t let them die.
Why fight what you are? You are the Slayer, your very name shrieks with Death and Dying. At this moment, memories flashed before Buffy�s eyes like a movie � her first meetings with Angel, Willow, Xander, Cordelia, Giles, and Oz� Slaying her first vampire with her first Watcher, who had killed himself in order to save Buffy� her first love, who also happened to be among the undead. Images of countless nasties the Hellmouth had spit into the Slayers face, yet Buffy Anne Summers had managed to kill them all.
You feast from the very hand of Death, girl.
�It�s what I do!� Buffy felt the words ripped from her thoughts and revealed in a most unpleasant manner before her � exposing her most secret and private memories to a horrified audience that was or was not there.
�It�s what I do,� Buffy had protested as she explained to her mother, Joyce, what it meant to be the Chosen One. Joyce refused to believe her daughter, even going so far as to forcing her out of the house and telling her to return when she had some sense left in her � and so Buffy had run away, leaving her mother in a blind panic. Did she ever accept me? Did she blame me for being Chosen?
�It�s what I do,� Buffy had snapped at a demon, one of the multitude�s of Stygian creatures she was forced to slay in her line of duty. The name of the creature evaded Buffy it was so frivolous to her now, and she was horrified by the very fact that half of the demons she had killed over the past years had gone unnamed in her brain.
It�s what I do.
Buffy never wanted to be the Slayer, but a part of her was glad that there was some shred of good left in the world � she had to believe that in order to be convinced that she was able to do something about the masses of evil. Buffy just wasn�t so pleased that it had to be her, she wasn�t a leader, she never thought it was possible to even become such a being as the Slayer until her freshman year in LA. Even now, five years into the Slaying business, Buffy wasn�t sure what it was that had made her become the Chosen One � wasn�t sure if it was an act of random or the strength and integrity of ones soul. Even that means there can�t be too much pure souls in the world if all they have is females for the job who aren�t meant to live past their early twenties.
�Slayers are not Chosen to be judged or do the judging. They slay whatever threatens the sun from rising each day�Whatever defies humanity defies the Slayer herself.� Giles� words playing back in her mind � but why had she thought them now? She was sure that it was one of his earlier reprimands when he had been assigned to Buffy, and she was also sure that she hadn�t given his words a second thought until now.
Kill. Murder. Massacre. Slaughter. Destroy. Maim. Beat. Slay.
�We�re the feral roots humanity left behind. The instinct to murder what poses a threat to us runs through our blood.� Kendra�s words, no doubt, but Buffy wasn�t sure where the late Slayer�s voice was coming from. It was possible Buffy had made it up to comfort herself � of that she would have no doubt � only she wasn�t sure just what was truth or fables at the moment.
Buffy�s eyes snapped open, drifting from screen to screen as each memory faded into the one prior to it� And prior to that, and prior to that. Vaguely she was reminded of the movie Alice in Wonderland and now she could honestly say she knew what it meant to be plummeting into the great unknown as Alice did when she had toppled into the rabbit hole.
Only, unlike a rabbit hole this was more of a wormhole � a portal forged in space that was directed towards a dimension different from reality and, most often, not as pleasant. Images of faces � of humans and demons and beasts alike � whirled around Buffy in the wormhole and were magnetized towards the swirling ebony abyss below her. Voices, again of past human, demon and beast friends and foes, caressed Buffy�s ears and overwhelmed her with their definitions.
Angel�s words when he had learned of Joyce�s passing, �I came as fast as I could.�
It wasn�t fast enough. Buffy had thought yet dared not make it known to her angel, her sweet Angel. The moment that the priest had intoned �Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,� Buffy felt a part of her break off and plummet down into the grave with her mother�s corpse. She wasn�t certain just what it was that she had lost, but Buffy felt drained and empty without it.
�I�m glad you came,� Was all Buffy could think to say to him at that time, and all her grief, all her passion, all her admiration for him was expressed in those four words.
She doubted he had known their true meaning.
Angel�s gentle words, heart-wrenching memories, and euphoric countenance were swallowed within the abyss.
Dawn�s words when she had discovered that she wasn�t human, �Am I real?� Those words snared Buffy�s heartstrings and tugged with all their might. �Of course you�re real. You�re flesh and blood and bone � I can see you and touch you; you�re real Dawn.� Was what the Slayer had yearned to say to her � yet she had not, could not lie to her sister then.
The look of staggering anguish that rippled across Dawn�s face when Buffy went down to her school to tell her of Joyce�s passing. The way Dawn had collapsed to her knees and sat there, sobbing and screaming, for what seemed an eternity�s worth of heartache all experienced by Buffy in the five years of Slayerhood. The bitterness that caressed Dawn�s words when she had learned the truth about her existence, questioning how old she was � how long she had been living, and even going so far as to slit her wrists and question if it was really blood that coursed from her.
Dawn, and all the memories concocted around her, disappeared within the abyss.
Joyce�s words when she had calmly told Buffy that she had to go into the hospital overnight for a checkup � for a CAT scan, in truth, �The doctors just want to be sure that what they�re seeing is or isn�t really there. I�ll be fine, Buffy. It�s just overnight.�
Buffy didn�t think so. That �overnight� visit had turned into another stop along her daily schedule: School, Magic shop, patrol, hospital, home. That overnight visit turned into weeks and weeks of uncomfortable plastic chairs, pitiful hospital cuisine, and grave expressions from Joyce�s elite doctors.
That overnight visit had turned into a grave plot, and a tombstone.
The face void of all life, of expression, of the gentle worry lines etched into every mother�s face once their children grew up to be adults. The sight of her mothers� body lying still � too still for the ever-moving and lively Joyce Summers � with her large green eyes fixed on the ceiling, almost as if she were staring into her souls new haven. The sound of her own pathetic attempts at luring Joyce back into life, �Mom � Mom� Mommy?� Buffy didn�t know how to react once the stench of death washed over her. She had wanted to shake her mother�s body, to scream at her, �Get up! Mom you have to take care of us!� but she hadn�t. She couldn�t.
Joyce�s burial plot, the granite tombstone that read �Mother and friend�, the sound of the shovel scraping into the soil and burying Joyce�s coffin six feet under, was sucked into the abyss.
Buffy had regained some sort of sense within her at this time, yet all she could muster up as a response to the horrors of her adult and Slayer life was a scream. A long, heartbreaking shriek that pierced the souls of those who were unfortunate enough to hear it, a cry of pure anguish, desperation, grief, terror, hatred � desolation. Buffy Summers wasn�t sure if one human was possible of emitting such a ghastly cry, and yet here she was proving herself wrong.
I'm the Slayer... Chosen to make sure the dawn rises each day. .. The dawn. Dawn. DAWN. "DAWN!" Buffy felt the words torn from her throat, only to be absorbed into the din that coiled all round her. Dawn are you alive? Are you hurt? Mom told me take care of you, I have to take care of you Dawn.
She wasn�t sure who or what she was screaming to, cursing to, begging for mercy, for release, for a sign of life within the spiraling violet gorge.
All Buffy received was silence � and a one-way tour into her own ravaged psyche.
Arms folded before her chest like a shield, legs pulled tightly to her abdomen in the fetal position, Buffy Summers plummeted into the abyss.
* * *
Screaming something dreadful, Buffy watched with wide eyes as the abyss shifted and swallowed her whole. She didn�t know what to expect in that moment, though she shut her eyes and clenched her fists as hard as she could and prepared to be ripped limb from limb, atom from atom, fiber from fiber.
What she felt however was anything but being torn asunder.
The damp surface of soil was Buffy�s landing cushion, and the spine-wracking impact of landing unprepared onto the Earth was the Slayer�s second expectation. Again, she was proved wrong.
Seconds before impact, the walls towering ominously overhead shifted from blurs into fathomable scenery and Buffy felt her once-careening body decrease to a sudden drifting speed. Gravity was not the only thing that was altered, she thought as Buffy landed feet first � and without injury � on the damp earth below her. The heels of her boots sunk into the grass without doing major damage, and unaccustomed to standing on her own feet, Buffy sank down into the lush lawn, hands clinging to the threads of turf for composure.
Shaking a strand of gold from her vision, Buffy stared round at the miserable atmosphere before her � a distortedly shaped mine shaft that snaked and plummeted into darkness, save for the flickering torches on the walls.
Huffing and pouting her lip like a child, Buffy question the darkness, �Where am I?�
And the darkness replied, �Welcome to Wonderland, Savior.�
( btw. The light is actually faeries nailed to the walls. O_o lol told you Wonderland wasn�t happy. Should I keep it Wonderland, or make it into Eden? )
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|Tuesday, July 3rd, 2001|
1:27 pm - song
|Saturday, June 9th, 2001|
9:54 pm - Okay, Improved poem
-And I looked into his face and cried
I saw nothing.
I felt nothing.
-I screamed into the void that used to be our souls
I heard nothing.
I felt nothing.
-Will I ever find myself loose of his grasp?
I know nothing.
I feel nothing.
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|Saturday, April 21st, 2001|
1:49 pm - Summer Snow
This is something I wrote for a class... it's sorta simple, in a way, but I ended up liking it. I want to do a rewrite. Any suggestions as to what I could do to better it?|
©Robert J. Dargis, Jr.
The snow fell
in sheets outside. Ugly grey sheets of snow.
Faded charcoal paper.
A woman sat near her window, looking out at the
blizzard. At least the sky'll start clearing up, soon, she thought.
It had been this way too long. Much too long.
It wasn't always like this. The last time she had seen the rays of the sun was
when she was a little child. Sunlight. Something everyone dreamed about, at
some time or another. Now, the memories of the past were fading. People stopped
remembering the sun.
Little black flakes pressed themselves against
the window for a moment, clinging to it like little men holding on to a rope
dangling above a pit. Eventually, the wind dragged them all to the ground below.
She looked out, counting the dark flakes as they
floated past her face. Each one was different. Unique, in some way or another.
A beauty lying in something other than the pattern. Sometimes it was the texture.
Every flake that touched the ground added to it a certain smoothness. There
was actually a beauty in the dark snow, something that made her feel like reaching
out to it. To touch such beauty, however, was certain death.
The sound of the ash pattering on the roof made
her eyes droop, made her slouch. Leaning forward, drifting elsewhere. Worse
yet, it her stomach felt uneasy. Such a beautiful, calming sound Death had.
A sound like old memories. The woman shifted in the chair, trying to keep her
stomach from churning. This was to little avail.
Pushing her bare heels to the ground, followed
closely by her toes, she began to lift herself from the chair, resting her hand
on the wall for support. She shuffled to the window. giving the beauteous Death
a last glance before she turned and left the room.
Her kitchen was a barren place. Little stood in
the room, excepting two chairs, a small table, and an old refrigerator. The
fridge had been her father's, long before the war had begun. It came into her
possession slightly after the fighting began, when his body, or rather what
was left of it, was returned to the family.
No one was sure why there was a war. There just
was. It would have been resolved in a few years and labeled World War III. China
had to get involved. Now it's called an international tragedy.
A nameless war called a tragedy.
Staring at her feet, she walked in little circles
on the old tile. The dust from the ground made wonderful little patterns. Memories
of a childhood Spirograph surfaced, before drowning in thought again. A childhood
that had never really been.
She had first gotten this house when her father
died. Her brother had gotten the money. Fate works in strange ways, though.
Brother Michael had come the same way as his father, returned to the family
from overseas. Family, being just her. The money was hers. Everyone else in
the world went on with their lives. Or they expired.
She was able to pull the refrigerator door open,
with some effort. Inside she found what little remained of her food. Some cheeses,
a bottle of wine her father had saved (now quite aged), some high-sodium meat,
bottled fruit jams. Even an old bottle of catsup. She pulled out a slice of
American cheese from the bottom shelf. Not to eat, but to examine.
The cheese was tightly wrapped, much like the
blister packing on the toys of her childhood. Something had found its home on
the cheese, and it had started to turn a purplish green. Toys in childhood,
of purple and green. Plastic. Food. Plastic Food. She poked a hole through the
cheese with her finger, letting it slide through the green and purple mold.
Removing her finger, she placed another hole in the cheese, slightly to the
right of the first. She took a fingernail and added a sideways parenthese under
Holding the cheese to the light, a smile wrinkled
across her face. It was little things like this that got her through the days
now. Little bits of beauty and humor in an ugly, serious world. Living by herself
wasn't easy. She had been alone for 10 years now. She still didn't like it.
She moved out of the kitchen to her front hallway,
squeezing past stacks of magazines to look out into the world. The ash had stopped
falling. The ground smoked, cooling with the breeze.
A cigarette put out on the world.
The time was ripe to go outside and see if there
was any change.
Reaching out to the door, she paused, running
her fingers over the cold metal of the knob. She couldn't be afraid. Not now.
The ash had stopped. It was safe. Or was it? Did it matter?
The government had issued the warning years ago.
Going outside was not safe, unless it was absolutely required. The government
provided food and services for everyone. The entire country became a group of
hermits. She couldn't have been happier. Life had been difficult. Simple solution.
She put on her shoes.
Resolved, she made a fist over the knob and turned
it. Her wrist made a small cracking sound. She pulled. The door was open. The
sound of the wind entered the house, picking little bits of memory from her
cave. The cave she called home. Was she ready to face the outside?
Putting a foot out, she quickly pulled back, kicking
the side of the doorframe to remove the ash from her sole of her shoe. It didn't
work. She knew how to do this. She had been outside. Just not for a very long
time. Not until she moved into this house. Her family came and went, died and
were buried, spread across the ocean, or just lost. She stayed at home. Checking
the mail. Sometimes. Mail delivery hadn't happened for three years, now. Can't
really deliver mail when no one wants to go outside.
She pressed her foot outside, rubbing her toe
into the thick ash, forming little patterns. I can't be afraid, she thought.
I shouldn't be afraid.
The other foot made its way out the door. A few
footprints were played into the ground as she moved forward. She looked upwards.
Grey clouds, still. But a little patch of sunshine just for her.
current mood: amused
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|Sunday, April 15th, 2001|
A hazy sky of unanswered questions
Rains acidic answers, falling like perfect tears
The spherical shapes, clear, omnipresent
They flow into the cracks and dips
Forming an aquiline estuary
The tainted effigy of empyream
Reflect in the waters of insanity
Chaotic, prismic, laetificant
Kiss of death blessed upon me.
current mood: dark
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|Sunday, March 25th, 2001|
From Briar Rose, by Jacob Grimm:|
"A large hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it became higher and thicker; till at last the old palace was surrounded and hidden, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen. But there went a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping Briar Rose (for so the king's daughter was called): so that, from time to time, several kings' sons came, and tried to break through the thicket into the palace. This, however, none of them could ever do; for the thorns and bushes laid hold of them, as it were with hands; and there they stuck fast, and died wretchedly."
Ah, classic fairy tales, not edited for todays children or parents.
current mood: naughty
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