News

News: I moved the keyboard to my room and now I feel strongly inclined to tell the world that I adore Phantom of the Opera. Everything is perfectly normal and no, I don't have access to any secret underground labyrinth...yet.

--12 August 2017 --

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

September 23, 2012

Frustration -- (Emotion Capture)

I felt like I should write a scene in an attempt to capture an emotion (which I've kinda failed at in the past, so yay, here goes another attempt). Today I try to collect the essence of frustration in a short scene. It doesn't sound that awesome...but I guess it's ok. So yeah, read on and if you have suggestions/comments, positive criticism is welcome. 


pinterest
[Note: concerning image, see Character Notes at bottom for more details]

[yay; music by one of my favourite young artists (who's now all grown up, but I just love the stuff he recorded when he was younger :P)]




---



The door slammed shut with thunderous force and a trembling form collapsed onto the bed, burying his face into the pillow. His hair splayed about, tangling itself momentarily with the blankets that he drew up over his shoulders.

The atmosphere was all at once warm and humid. His breath cascaded through his lips, soaked up by the flannel, until it returned through his nostrils. His cheeks were moist with the tears that, for no real reason, continued to seep from his eyes. His tongue traced itself over his lips, curving around the rounded scar from childhood. His eyelashes brushed against the blankets like feathers attempting to escape the clouds; and then he threw them back and allowed fresh air to race into his lungs. He felt the coolness expand within him, filling him up from the inside like a refreshing compliment.

His eyes immediately flicked upwards to that one sketch he should have gotten rid of; the familiar orange autumn leaves soothed the back of his mind. The smiles, the warm fleece overcoats, the hugs, the laughter…it all reminded him of the better days. The days where he inhaled the words of the people he loved. The days when he traced and retraced the backbone of sentences uttered…the times when he simply reclined in a chair and counted freckles on the faces of others. He tasted those moments in his mouth, as vividly as a daydream.

A choked sigh escaped his lips and he slumped down on the pillow, its warm white cover creased over his eyes and blocked out the sights he loved and hated.

Frustration.

The word was so bitter sweet: an emotion like none other he’d felt so deeply. He hated it intensely, yet he loved it…because it was a word. A feeling. Another blessing. Another curse.  

He sat back up abruptly and shook his head, forcing out the cotton-like thoughts that sought to overtake his rational mind. Reaching up, he wiped away fresh tears. His heart was going to burst; and if it burst, it wouldn’t just burst, it would explode. It would explode into a million colours and shades and splatter all over the room. And his blood would pick itself up off the floor and dance over his carpet and out the door and onto the street and down to the town center where it would put on a show for the whole universe. Then it would slink back during the wee hours of morning and slip through his ribcage, stimulating his thoughts once more until he arose in the morning, weary with the heavy feeling of life.

Already his heart thundered violently, like a racing beast threatening to take over the shooting stars and shatter every wish and dream anyone had ever made. He pressed his hand against his chest and took a deep breath. His eyes combed the room until they spotted a sketch book. He never opened that anymore. All of his emotions sketched on several pages…it was too much; too much to ask of anyone, too much to ask of himself. He had burned the pictures; their ashes were placed in jars, but even those ashes scorched his fingertips as though they still carried the heat of fire from when they struggled to retain their complex form.

It’s all fine, he didn’t need them anyways. Let the autumn leaves fall. He didn’t rely on reality or the people it carved into his life; the seasons would offer him the things he desired. Summer’s lazy love and relaxed pleasures, autumn’s warm embrace and caresses, winter’s silence and joint-mourning, and spring’s rejuvenation of deadened limbs.  

“I know you’re fine, but what do I do?” he whispered to the silence, pausing to wait for a response, and when none came, he bit his lip and frowned.

---


[[Character Notes]]


The image at the top of this page suggests perhaps a bit of this character's background. Yes he's a fighter, but he's also quite emotional. He might have a dark past, but he has a bright future. 


We often find ourselves imagining the heroes or antagonists of a story to be stone-hearted and rather fixed in their ways (yes, even heroes, although readers often give them more lee-way when it comes to expressing emotion); however, in this case I think my character is rather soft hearted despite the cold and brutal image his persona portrays to those who see him.


I almost want to give him a name...but I'll refrain for now. 


Honestly, the story that's forming in my mind is breaking my heart (in a good kind of author-falls-in-love-with-character sort of way). I won't divulge it now. I want to let it tumble about a bit more before I consider writing it down and giving him life. Muse all you like -- yay or nay for writing more on this man? 



Signed with crunchy leaves, 

Squeaks.

p.s. originally this piece was written from a modern-day perspective and the character was female... I changed it around quite drastically but I fear some of those feminine undertones may have been carried over; forgive the emotional nature of my man :P

September 16, 2012

Consciousness ReAwakened -- A Poem

I've had this poem on my mind for a long time but I could never find it...however, a few days back I was looking through my emails and I stumbled across it! I wrote this two years ago...essentially it was a bit of rage writing. I filled up 13 pages furiously. Quite furiously. Anyways. I thought I would share this...I don't think I've published it here before so yay, new/old material :P Oh yes, and inspiration came about (to some degree) from Dante's Inferno (of his Divine Comedy) and Angel Fall by Coleman Luck.


An image from Dante's Inferno (not certain who gets credit for this)
[[Warning: For those of you faint of heart, I must make it clear that this poem is a bit graphic; if you're not comfortable with blood and such, you may want to proceed with caution]]


---


Consciousness ReAwakened
By Squeaks
November 24th, 2010

Pricked.
To the core of my being.
Burnt.
By flying demons.
They swirl; a mist around my brain.
Cutting off life. Burning, crushing.
Like a nail driven deeply;
Slammed into a wall of ice.

There is a fountain
Of tears and blood.
Salty – metallic. Awful.
It trembles, rushing through my veins.
Scabbing in my heart.

A wall soars up,
High above my life,
Keeping them out – out.
It’s strong and sturdy. Like twin swords.
Enter? Impossible.
Every brick that goes up, goes up.
Cemented in place by willpower.

A gouge crests across the heart.
Beating – pulsations of blood
Spout out. Agony?
It’s numbing; I sit back and feel
Nothing.

Not a speck of light enters.
I cannot let it in; it would
Melt the wall.
Why not? light is good!
Sometimes – sometimes.
Not now, it’s too early, too cold.

With every creak, the drawbridge raises.
Higher, higher – nose to the sky,
Sniffing for hope.
Aching for love.
Has it found its desire?

No, only death is present.
Bloody, rotting corpses,
Covered in pus, oozing with slime.
Mold creeps off the bodies in
Rivulets, sliding to the
Blackened ground. – Sliding

What? Phantoms alive?
Raised up with the dawn?
My nightmare! O shut the gates!
With a clang, I’m locked in.
Away from death – destruction – despair.
Holding on to a shred of hope – love – life.

This body – this mind:
Cursed.
Eons of horror – apparent
Observed with moist eyes.
Mucus running down face,
Swallowed up in shadows.
Forever alone. Despair. Woe.

What gloom! How horrid – awful!
Where is the light? outside.
Where is the love? lost.
When? in battle.
Give up. Throw away golden ball and chain.
Disperse into nothing. Nothing.

Dawn is coming.
The hillsides glisten with
Blood and bones.
Rivers of red run,
Underground. Away!
The land is cursed.
Barren.
The slopes, once cool
As peppermint, now hellishly fevered.
Cut open with a scalpel.
Left to rot. rot.

My soul is stained with despair.
When will it end? Go away?
Will the universe stop spinning?
Swipe air from our lungs?
Steal what is not ours?
God forbid! forbid!

Like moonlight, my tears seep
Down, streaming, hopeless.
Cry all you want.
It shall never end.
Hope was banished. outside.

Voice, now gone. A croak remains.
Bids sleep – weary wanderer, rest.
No. Lay not down your head.
You have no mind, no control.
All is ruled by others, by hell.
By weapon-wielding terrorists
Who crash your soul to pieces.

Dark is this night. No tears, no cries.
No love, no hope. No fear, nothing.
Quiet? No, screams from the pit,
Echo soundlessly upwards,
Tearing crystal masquerades to
Reveal the lies.

What have I done?
Have I died? No.
This is true life.
I hate it. Death – disease – destruction.
Why hope at all?
Judgment – you kill me.
Tear me down, with silver claws,
Across my face, disfigure me.

Now silent. No torture, no screams.
Rushing pools of blood, twisting
Round and round.
Endless circles of death.
First one, then the other.
Slowly streaming by, caressing.
Good? No, evil. Brutal hate.
Drenched in folly, sweating.

These garments? Shreds.
This city? Ruined.
The bane of man – my epic.

Reality, how you curse me.
You live like love and say sweetness
Yet you lie. lie. lie.
You twist your photo backwards.
You’re all opposites.
Good, perfect, beautiful. Ha!

How do I escape this mire?
It sucks me down,
Squelching hope. Eating honesty.
No one can help me out.
I’m not even alive anymore.
Dreaming? O how I wish! wish.

A façade over death.
Life is a mask we paint on.
Only God knows what lies inside.
I see and smell the lies.
I feel the death of pictures.
You walk and hug and kiss
To no avail!
Perfect? I swear foully.
Such a word should not exist –
So quickly abused and tarnished.
Like a child, all innocence stolen.

My eyes sting. So bad they feel like fire.
They are on fire.
It races through my decaying body,
Absorbing water, wielding terror.
Happy? The heat extracts my spirit
Till I’m gone. Food for phantoms.
Stringy tendons in jaws, pulled apart
Torn, slurped, swashed in blood.
Sickening crunches. Gone.

I flee upwards. Away from hell,
From demons – despair.
I’m free of the dead land.
So free it almost feels like a dream.
I prance the skies, nothing. Feel nothing.
The very thought of nothing sends my heart
Wildly racing. Am I in love? Ha!

But nothing does not last. Like life
It crumbles to something.
A portrait, revealed by night,
Glimmering behind star-dust.
Beckons me closer, home? No.

The portrait is so beautiful, I
Think it is real.
Lava and oranges mix together,
Catapulting up to splay their
Groping hands across a darkened sky.
So much like the sun…always
Touching that which is secret.

Pasture greens lope over small plains,
Kissing the parchment like a child.
They spin through yellow and blue brooks
Twisting their way up stalwart sentinels.
Reality? I wish!

A string of starlight entangles in my hair,
Pulling me closer until I step into the frame.
Sigh.
If this is heaven, I don’t deserve it.
Soft grass, caressing my wounded limbs.
Flowers, cleaning my blood-clogged nose.
Silver streams and golden brooks, washing away decay.

I lean back. Pleased.
Is this real? I shall pray so.
Birds of unfathomable colours
Minister with sweet warbles.
Chills up my spine.
Moaning wind, brushing trees with
Tenderness.

“Arise, sleeper.”
What? I just arrived! No!
Don’t leave!
The world crumbles and
I float into nothingness.
Spinning over and over in confusion.

“Awake!” What voice!
It is as though a trumpet blasted.
I crack open an eye and scream.

I did not leave?
Here I live in hell!
Never! No! No!!

A careful glance – no demons.
My body – battered but not consumed.
Look up.
The gates are hanging open on rusted hinges.
The drawbridge suspends itself
Partway down.

The ground? Bloody as ever.

“Arise.”
The trumpets blast, sending me reeling
Backwards into muck.
Who goes? What now?
Has the horde returned to
Finish their eternal slaughter?

Trembling limbs – I set myself upright,
Weak – weak – sobbing with fear.
I smell death. It’s everywhere.
What caused this hell?
--Me--

“Come.”
Peals of thunder.
The stampeding crash of a million cymbals.
My ears ring, blood trickles out, racing to the ground.

“Who goes?”
My voice, so hopeless, helpless. Hurting.

“I AM who I AM.”

No! You? You put me here!
I cry, trying to run.
My legs are stuck in place.
They burn with pain and I collapse.

“Arise.”
I cannot. I lie
Face down in dung.
My nose and mouth are clogged.
If only I could suffocate!
The horror of meeting he
Who sent me to be tortured.
Surely this is the worst hell of all.

I feel a tug, and am set on
My feet.

“Behold.”
The voice. Soft as down and sweet
As pearls. Right before me.
I feel my nose and mouth free. No
Longer gagged with my creation.

And I look. Behold indeed!
He looks like me.
Covered in grime and blood.
The pus of others on his arms and legs.
His body – half naked.

Surely he has suffered!
The blood on his back streams down.
His flesh, filleted like fish, hanging
Off in strips.
His hair and beard, shorn off gruesomely.

“As you have suffered, so I have.”
Hope? I see it glimmer in his eyes.
I want to reach out and snatch.
He’s one of us. Why should he have hope?

As if my thoughts were not secret,
He replies,
“Hope I give you, for
The Father gave it to me.”

And he breathes into my mouth.
My lungs fill with pure air.
Now I see. I realize.
I had never breathed before.
I had been dead.
The noxious smells assault me
With more power now. I turn
He breathes again.

Life surges through my flesh.
I feel the wounds close up.
My eyes stop burning.
My ears stop ringing.
I’m alive.

When I step back, my world has gone.
In its place is a new city,
Straddling cherubic hills.
Walls? Not a single one.
The land is fresh – virgin.
The people? untainted by hell.

In the midst of this garden
Lies a white temple.
It pulses steadily, glowing brighter
With each moment.
My spirit. My body. It’s glorious.

When I turn back to my Saviour,
He’s gone.
My eyes water and my knees wobble.
Gone? It will fade like a dream!
But before a sound can
Leak from my lips,
I look down at my chest.
Above my heart is a knot of light.
It pulses with the temple.
It’s Him.

He’s in me! How much better than
Being outside? Now I can go
Everywhere with and never go without.
My Saviour and I laugh.
It’s the most cheerful sound
I’ve ever heard.

My wounds and His are one.
My scars match His.
My breath is His.
We are one.


---

Signed with broken flower petals, 

Squeaks.
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