Non curo. Si metrum non habet, non est poema.

Random work-based writings. Don't try to analyse.

Sat, 23 Oct 2004 00:02:36 GMT

"You don't understand. You can't." That was what he'd said. Five words. Two sentances. Seven syllables. Such a little thing, to have such an impact. Looking back, that was the night things had changed for her, when she'd realised how it really was. It had seemed so simple at first. She'd gone to him, when it seemed he needed her most. She'd seen his pain, shared it with him, or thought she had. Maybe not. It was so hard to be sure, and more so after that moment.

The next she'd heard had been the newspaper's headlines, but that hadn't registered as it should. The reactions it should have inspired -- just didn't happen. It was as if that part of her had been anaesthetised, taken out and left in the sun to wilt and fade away. What did sink in was a sense of closure, that maybe she had done the right thing in letting go, and part of her rebelled at that thought. She didn't want to think of herself as the kind of person who'd do that, who had done that. But it arose whenever she thought about him, so she tried to stop thinking of him. After all, she was the only one who felt that dependance. She was his only obstacle.

Time and again, it came back to that. She'd held him back, stood in his way, kept him from following the course he'd set. She realised that; she wondered if he'd forgiven her for it, seeing that it wasn't through her own choice, but just the way things sometimes were. Had she been selfish? She didn't think so. The amount they'd both gained from the association was beyond doubt.. or was it? No.. the barriers slammed back into place, cutting off that train of thought. The one thing she couldn't let herself do was doubt. That way lay madness, and for now, she needed her calm sanity, even if it did lead to overanalysing her motives. Clarity was key.

Clarity was exactly what she lacked at present though. The bridge was shrouded in mist, only the dirty orange glow of the street lights adding any texture to the day. Hard to think it was barely even late afternoon, and that the sun was up there still, pouring its light into the cloying greyness. The fog seemed determined to stay, though, and if anything, only drew closer as time went by. Looking down into the gorge, only the soft darkness was visible, offering no escape from her thoughts.

He had stood here. She wondered what he'd thought, then shook her head. He'd have had a clear view down to the river below, and plenty to occupy his mind.. and as he'd told her, it wasn't anything she could understand in any case, although she had tried. But what had changed, she had to admit, was something inside her.

Maybe she'd stopped caring. Maybe she'd learned to care more, to put him before herself. Either way, the result was the same: he'd craved a release, and she had finally allowed him to take it. And what more was there to say? Quietly, without being noticed, a single drop of salty water slid into the air and began the long drop away from her, but it was the first and last. To cry would be to admit culpability. To admit fault. And for all that she hadn't understood, she knew that he wouldn't have wanted that.

At last, she gave a soft sigh and turned away, her gaze wandering over the mist-softened shapes of the white blooms laid there, matching her own. For all she knew that it was a facade, she could at least content herself with knowing that whatever else, she'd known and understood more than most. The thought was almost enough to lift her spirits. Almost, but not quite.

She alone knew that he hadn't departed the world.. but she alone knew that he had left the life of this town far behind him. She didn't know how she knew, but she knew. And against all reason, this was more painful than those headlines, which had told her of his end, fallen from this treacherous bridge on a night empty but for the silence and the cold, clean light of the moon. But for now, it was just another thing to learn to accept and to let go of. It was time to head back.

And so, she finally turned her back on all that had gone before, banishing it all to locked memories and half-forgotten dreams, and started the long walk back into the town she knew, and understood. That was what was important now.

Thu, 14 Oct 2004 14:11:51 GMT

Randomly, Kestenan asked me for 'Stories of death or glory'. So I decided to throw up some loosely-based-on-stuff-that-really-happened fiction, loosely wrapped around Planetside. It needs detail and expanding on stuff in many many places, but this is basically what I want from an online game, and what I've yet to find.

I want a simulation, in many ways. I want to find myself being a part of these things, and whatnot. So, here's my random babbling.

[Note: Terminology may be wrong. Acronyms may be wrongly expanded. Procedures may be wrongly described. Kindly ignore any inconsistencies, it's only /based/ (loosely) on PS :P]

Picture the scene: Terran Republic's Sanctuary... just behind the High Altitude Re-entry Transport shuttle station, eight Galaxy dropships await - engines idling, their pilots exchanging course and tactical data over the local channel. The order is given by Command: Recall to sanctuary and load up. Immediately, troops from all over Auraxis start to deconstruct their matrixes and reassemble at the spawn tubes just back of the HART station, quickly moving around to form up behind the Galaxies. Some are wearing standard exosuits and loaded up with heavy weapons, some are wearing MAX armour in various configurations (although most are anti-infantry or anti-aircraft). A few even have stealth gear on, and are designated by their certification lists as hackers, medics and engineers. I myself am among these ranks.

"Let's move!"

Immediately, eight squads of soldiers set about boarding the Galaxy nearest them, the MAXes at the front, everyone else in the rear, but for the wing gunners and the tailgunner. Within two minutes, everyone is seated, and the dropships move out towards the Nexus warpgate, passing through and onto Esamir continent. Four facilities are disputed, each rife with Vanu Sovereignty or New Conglomerate soldiers. Two Galaxies divert to each, one swooping in low overhead to hot-drop its armed and armoured troops, the other hanging back to provide a second wave and offload its stealth personnel, who set about attacking the external base defences. The facility names aren't important; what matters is that we're there to take back what's ours.

Immediately, enemy air support is summoned, but by that time we've already taken control of the vehicle pads by dint of some judicious hacking. Four Mosquito air-to-air units are already airborne and waiting for the enemy, deftly holding off their strafing runs until the main body of soldiers are inside the base, given support by the anti-aircraft MAXes which have deployed at the corners of the base. A token resistance is encountered, easily taken out, leaving the upper levels under TR control. Quickly, we penetrate deeper into the base, one squad moving to cover the internal spawn tubes, the others heading to secure the control center and the secondary vehicle terminals. An Advanced Hacker heads down into the bowels of the base, setting to work on the control console. All around, the sound of gunfire and artillery echos as reinforcements head in from the enemy-controlled Air Towers around the base, but not for long; Our hackers have been at work there, too, and within minutes the capture of both towers is announced over the command channel. The main base is hacked, emergency lighting taking over in the tunnels of the lower floors as its Lattice Logic Unit (what we need to capture to hold the base) is spawned. It's taken up in a relay run back to the target base, while the rest of the platoon hold on to the newly-claimed territory. Turrets are quickly repaired and manned, motion sensors set up in a network around the entrances, and we settle in for the wait, swatting the occasional cloaked enemy, sent to harry our troops.

But the smell of victory is in the air. Our fallen comrades have already rejoined us, and the local channels are flooded with congratulations, thanks, and crude jokes at the expense of the enemies.

*cringe*

Mon, 13 Sep 2004 19:13:08 GMT

She fought. That was what she did.

The atmosphere churned about her, crimson swirls and eddies mixed with pulsing undertones of blue, violet, glowing brightly here and there where a stream of.. she didn't know what it was, but it felt dangerous, so she kept well clear. Caution; the idea amused her. Surrounded by inchoate light and dark, buffeted by the wayward drafts and currents, and she was worried about a mere acetylene brightness. But amusement never lasted. Nothing did for long.

'Long' was a concept that gave her difficulty even now. The word was there, and her battered subconscious kept trying to apply it to her situation, but the concept wouldn't stick. It was as irrelevant as night or day, truth or falsehood, or any of the other hundreds of word-patterns that created brief sparkles within her consciousness during the lulls. She wasn't sure if she could label it consciousness anymore, or whether it was just the idling response of what for lack of a better word she still thought of as a mind. She supposed something must still be ticking along though, to do the supposing. But again, supposition never lasted for long. The past was irrelevant, and the lulls quickly became part of it.

Instead, the song: muscles (or their analogues; she no longer wasted time on the comparison) reacting with lightning speed, nerves tingling with the sensory input that would have crippled any normal being (maybe she was crippled, and just didn't know it - The old maxim about the madman who never realised he was insane floated past, and was snatched away in a flash of colour that she herself had already rolled and slipped beneath), the heart-wrenching symphony of the body working in utmost harmony, each tiny motion from the flow of ions within the cells, to the sudden, instinctual movements that were by comparison almost glacial in their slowness contributing to a single common goal. After all, time was nothing more than another set of shackles. The right key, and it could be thrown off, irrelevant as all things were now.

Yes, came the thought, and the last skein of herself followed it away into the billowing, swirling mass, another imperfection cast aside and left for the scavengers and leaving nothing but cold purpose.

She fought, and gloried in it.

Because that was what she did.

Wed, 25 Feb 2004 01:25:36 GMT

She loved to do this. To stand in the lounge overlooking the long ramp, and watch the new recruits file their way into the Underworld. None of them knew, at this early stage, just what they'd signed up for. Details weren't provided while still in the Overground. All they knew was that their family's protection fees were paid up for the next six months, and they had somewhere where they could be useful to the Organisers.

Or so they think. The thought brought a slight curl to her lips, a sign of the secret pleasure she took from watching this, the start of another day's journey into the dark. Not that she'd ever admit it, no - an Associate enjoying her job was grounds for immediate turning of the tables, and the slightest misplaced word could see her trudging down that same long ramp. The only difference would be that she'd know what was waiting for her, and would have to supress the reactions the knowledge would cause. Letting the recruits in on that little secret was a sure path to immediate termination. The Organisers didn't like to waste good meat, but they would if they felt they had to. And yet, maybe that would be the preferable course.

The last of the grey-suited, white-faced recruits disappeared out of view between the huge double doors that closed the end of the ramp, and the Associate finally raised her eyes, fixing them on the emblazoned Organisation star-and-cross that surmounted the entrance to the Underworld. She made a sloppy, mocking salute to it, then turned on her heel and headed for the door, letting her smile grow a little wider as she thought of the day ahead.

After all, there was no-one to see it.

Wed, 02 Jul 2003 11:08:39 GMT

So I wake up.

I don't know where I am at first, the rushing lights and noise confuse the eye and the mind. So I get up, I blink a few times at my surroundings, and it could be any busy street in any city in the world. I lean back against a lamp post and rest a moment, looking up at the blood-red sky of sunset above the towering warrens of metal and glass. A single star looks back.

People drift past in trickles, intent on some distant purpose. The endless patterns of light and dark glide from one to the next, and all the works of Monet, Van Gogh, Dali are there for the viewing. But they're so intent that they never look, and all I can think is, is this really art? They flow around me, glimpses of other lives and times, overwhelming in their simplicity but woven into a tapestry that paints a picture I'm not sure I'm able to comprehend. But I'm not a part of that. I observe. It's what I do.

I try to move, my body won't respond. Someone's wrapped chains made of roses around me, supporting me. It's a comforting presence, which lets me concentrate on the important things, for my mind has boundaries that hamper my reception, and the universe is broadcasting on wide band. I give myself over to that, adrift in a wilderness of light and sound and hungry for it all. The lights of the Empire State Building shine down on me. Another person walks by, heading for the Eiffel Tower at the end of the street. A flock of pigeons rises, disturbed by his passing, and settle on Nelson's Column where it stands before the Taj Mahal. Only they're not pigeons, and the roses are constricting, holding me back. The thorns press into my flesh and my mind as I strain against them, eager for...something. But what? Because my mind is open now and the entire stretch of Infinity is trying to ground itself in my skull. And I want it.

I call out to the people as they pass, asking for help, release. They slip past beyond the reach of my fingers, oblivious, because they're immersed in their weaving of lives and I'm outside, looking in. I try to join them, wanting to belong and to be free of the bindings on me, but I can't, because I'm still chained to this lamp post on Broadway. Or maybe it's the Champs-Élysées and I'm just looking at it wrong. Maybe it's the street I grew up on. Maybe it's the street I'll spend my last years on. Or maybe I'm just thinking wishfully.

My cries die away, and I see the answer. With no more than a sigh, I compose myself, and throw off the body which holds me back, leaving it held within the grasp of blood-red captivity and stepping forth into the tapestry's flow. The restrictions are gone, the Totality is there for the taking, and I let it flow into me like an orchestra reaching the final movement of a long performance. As enlightenment comes with all its glorious fury, it sounds like something by Bach, Marx, Ptolomy, or Radiohead. Maybe it's all of them. And a thought comes to me through the endless maelstrom of being.

Maybe I never woke up.

Wed, 25 Jun 2003 20:26:07 GMT

I wonder what it is about fire that draws us to it?

I mean, I have something of a fascination for fire. I can sit and stare at a candle flame for hours, just...kinda zoning out and letting it fill my whole world. Just about everyone I've ever mentioned this to has told me that they have the same thing, at least to a degree. But what exactly is it about the simple chemical reaction that is combustion that holds such an attraction for us? Maybe it's because it's a light against the darkness. Maybe it's because it's small, and can be controlled by the viewer...one puff, and it's gone. Maybe it's because of the potential for that tiny spark to grow, wild and uncontrolled, and be a great force of destruction.

There's probably a metaphor for life in there somewhere. But the next time you get the chance, on one of long summer evenings when the sun's dropped below the horizon and dusk is settling in, light a candle and just look at it.

And then write down what it inspires in you, because the fire-dreams of the individual are something which translates easily to the many. A way of sharing, and of learning about the self and each other.

It's not the laws which bind us, but the abstractions.

Mon, 16 Jun 2003 23:35:29 GMT

The easiest way to sleep at night
Is to carry on believing that I don't exist
The easiest way to sell your soul
Is to carry on believing we don't exist
It must be hard, hard, with your head on backwards

Thu, 20 Feb 2003 13:04:08 GMT

Abstractions are funny things. They seem to be fairly irrational, but still an integral part of the human psyche. For instance, parents. Like it or not, admissions (or lack of) notwithstanding, everyone has a drive to find someone they can think of as 'mother', 'father', 'role model'..someone they aspire to be like, someone they can look up to and also depend on. On the flipside however, there are those who go out of their way to be that someone. Instead of taking the solace of finding someone they need, they seek the comfort of finding someone who needs them, and who can depend on them in that manner.

At various times, admittedly mostly due to teenage emotional stress and angst, I've been on both sides of the spectrum. I still feel envy regularly due to people who I felt depended on me somewhat, or that I have depended on in the past finding a more suitable outlet for the feelings this creates. To put it bluntly, 'finding someone better', no matter how irrational that may sound. As I said, rampant hormones play a big part in this.

Another abstraction that sometimes confuses me is the perception of 'good' or 'evil'. Such things are for the most part purely subjective, although this can be expanded to cover a pseudo-objective state of reason. As an example, something that works for the mutual benefit of a majority of people is often called objectively 'good', but without fail, there are always those who will see it as a tragedy, a disaster, something objectively 'bad'. In both cases, this is merely expression of a personal viewpoint, but in both it can be construed as something with some of the characteristics of objective truth. The converse also holds true. What may mean hardship and suffering for one group can mean bounty and ease for another (as evidenced by the situation regarding middle- to far-eastern workers, in which large companies pay a fraction of the worth of their product to have it mass-produced by workforces that may not have any other means of income, leading to a huge profit for the company, but a lamentable situation for the workers).

This can be extended to less solid considerations, such as beliefs and opinions. In such cases, the closest measure of 'objective' good or bad can only be measured by those who are hardest hit by the situation, in a similar manner to 'proceeding at the pace of the slowest member'.

As a last consideration, the abstraction probably most familiar to anyone reading this is likely to be emotion. There are no true measures of emotion, as each personality learns for itself how to interpret the various hormonal input from the body and the workings of the mind. In the same way that there is no method of proving that what I see is what you see, an emotion cannot be classified by anyone other than the person experiencing that emotion.

This can lead to some interesting quandaries, masochism for instance. Masochism is defined in the following manner:
a. The deriving of sexual gratification, or the tendency to derive sexual gratification, from being physically or emotionally abused.
b. The deriving of pleasure, or the tendency to derive pleasure, from being humiliated or mistreated, either by another or by oneself.
In this situation, it seems apparent that a confusion is occuring between the pleasure and pain pathways within the brain. It is most often referred to as a disfunction, a deviation from the 'normal'. However, to my eyes this is no more different than colourblindness, in which two colours are percieved as being similar to the point of being indistinguishable. The colours are still perceived, but they are perceived differently, and in the same manner the masochist merely percieves pain and pleasure differently.

Such amorphous perceptions are part of why humanity is destined to never reach the much fabled 'brotherhood of man'. The differences in perception, the exclusion (and often ridicule) of deviants, and the contrast of ideas and thoughts that is part of our very makeup precludes the peaceful co-existance of humanity with humanity.

I apologise if this makes no sense at all. I just seem to be in the right frame of mind to vent my thoughts lately. Emotional unrest is the father of garrulity.

Tue, 18 Feb 2003 06:49:58 GMT

Sometimes, I look up at the stars, and it's like "Wow. There's so much up there, so much power and beauty." A million novae, a billion stars, a hundred billion hopes and dreams. The very flavour of what makes life what it is.

Every single part of it exists with certainty in only one place. In the mind of the observer.

As we grow and develop, we are told "This is a ball. It's round, and that means it's a ball". But a 'ball' is merely an assumption imposed on a particular sequence of sensory input. It's only as real as the observer's belief in that as a ball.

True enough, there are rules which have been imposed on this to make it more easy, such as the aforementioned assumption that something round is automatically a ball. There are divisions within these rules, for instance something ball-shaped and orange, with a pitted texture, can be reasonably assumed to be an 'orange', something completely different. The rules provide a framework, a means of building our own perceptions of the four-dimensional space we inhabit.

But what if they're false? Just as a house built on sand is doomed to fall, a set of referents built upon a faulty set of pre-made rules is unable to subsist. Something as important and inevitable to us as the flow of time has been shown to be purely subjective. Is any of this objectively 'real'? Are those stars actually there?

You think that's air you're breathing?

Emotions also fail to fall into the neat little pigeonholes we are so fond of. Irrespective of logic, morality, or anything else, emotions can lay bare our innermost selves, whether for good or bad. They can also inhibit us, make us too afraid or too uncertain to pursue what we wish for, what we dream about. In short, emotions shape our reality to fit ourselves, consciously or unconsciously, large or small.

The tiniest change can create the greatest alteration. All that's needed is the right fulcrum.

And more often than not, the heart is that pivot on the brink, holding us just short of salvation or the eternal darkness of the abyss.

Wed, 20 Nov 2002 00:41:55 GMT

I waited
before unlocking the clasp,
that bound my mind together

Part three

Mon, 29 Jul 2002 18:55:23 GMT

Here it is, part three of the story...opinions welcome...

  The warm, comforting surroundings of the tavern meant nothing to me, a nondescript blur around the table where I sprawled. Barely a week since she'd left, and I'd spent every night like this. Once more I signaled the bartender for another stein, and watched unsteadily, through eyes that refused to focus, as he brought it over.
   "Do you not think you've had enough, sir?" he quavered, unnerved by my glazed stare. I simply grunted and tapped the table slowly and deliberately, indicating for him to put the drink down and leave.
   The past week had made a wreck of me. My fur was unkempt, scruffy, my clothes reeking of alcohol, my face showing the wear of a week spent drinking myself to oblivion each night. The landlord had seen more of me in the last few days than in the whole time Sula was with me. A grin touched my face at that thought, my addled mind amused that at least someone was doing well out of my tragedy. Turning slowly, in case the motion caused my brain to start leaking from my ears, I faced the fire and thought as I often had lately, of taking that route, letting the flames purge my body and soul. Gods knew with all the spirits I'd been downing lately, I wouldn't exactly have to try hard. But no...that wasn't an option. Sula had told me that she'd come back to me, if she could. I had to wait. But I intended to spend as little of the intervening time sober and vulnerable to my memories as possible.
   I picked up the tankard in both paws, struggling to get it to my mouth without slopping it over my chest and managing without too much spillage. What's a little more here or there though? I grinned again, my condition no doubt making the expression seem horrible to the others in the common room. Indeed, I'd noticed the conversations quieting as I arrived lately, people looking at me from the corners of their eyes. Of course, within an hour of sitting down, I didn't care how they looked at me. What did they know about loss, anyway? How could they possibly know how I felt? They were nothing but a mute background to my suffering. I started, becoming suddenly aware that someone had pulled another seat up to my table and sat, watching me intently. I blinked and huddled back from the intruder, angry that someone would dare to interrupt my thoughts.
   "Sir..." The voice was female. I was irrationally pleased that my hearing didn't share my sight's degradation. I interrupted, putting all my anger and grief into the words.
   "Go 'way. I don' wanna be bothered."
   She ignored my contribution and continued talking, the words nothing but a blur to me after the initial dismissal. I relaxed into my pleasant alcohol-fuzzed inner hiding place and smiled and nodded at her in complete oblivion, hoping she'd go away.
   "I can help you find her."
   I tensed, those six words floating clearly through the silvery mist surrounding my mind. Leaning forward, I gazed wild-eyed at the speaker. "You c'n help me find her? My Sula? You know where she is?" Silence descended over the room, and I realised that my words had been close to a shout. I glared defiantly around at the wavering faces, daring one of them, any of them to say something. Within a few minutes, however, the other customers returned to their quiet drinking and conversation.
   The girl took a sip from the glass before her and looked up at me. "I don't know where she is...but I can help you. I know who she's been taken by. I can find where she's been taken. And I can help you get there."
   Hope blossomed within me for a moment, then I sighed, closing my eyes. I could feel myself sobering up rapidly, the depression rolling back like storm clouds over a blue sky. The girl's words had done a better job than a dunking in a cold mountain stream. "Why should I believe you? What's in it for you?" I was angry at her now, resenting her offer of a false hope.
   "What's in it for me?" Her eyes caught mine, a deep, bottomless blue. So much like Sula's... I thought. "There's nothing in it for me, besides one thing. An escape. I will help you, if you agree to take me with you. That's all I ask."
   I laughed bitterly. "I don't even know you. You expect me to just drop everything and go traipsing off on some hopeless journey with you?"
   She looked down, one of her fingers tracing patterns in the spills from my stein. "What do you have to hold you here? Your home is safe, but all you have left is this room. You come here, every night, and drink until you drop. That's no life. There's also the villagers to consider. They see only you as you are now, and think that your wife's disappearance has more to do with this than with anything out of the ordinary. She was well known and liked around here, and a lot of the people believe that you've driven her away. Do this for them, for me, but most of all, do it for yourself." She reached over and took my paw into both of hers. "We both know the pain you feel. Surely any hope is better than none?"
   A blank stare was my only answer, as I assimilated the knowledge that the villagers thought that I'd driven my love away. "But...that's not true...I would never push her away...she was taken from me..."
   "I know." There was compassion in her eyes now as she gave my paw a gentle squeeze. "But it's time to start anew. To go and find what was taken from you, and take it back."
   "Who...are you?"
   "My name is Mina, and that's all the answer I have. I've been travelling for quite some time to get here." She smiled shyly at me. "I knew you'd need me, you see."
   I stared at her. "How could you know that? I didn't know myself until a week ago. Where are you from, anyway? How did you get here? You don't look above fourteen."
   She nodded slowly before answering. "I was born twelve years ago, in Kerr." My questioning look inspired more explanation. "It's a small town about fifty miles from here, across the mountains. I walked from there."
   I sighed. It was true what she said. I had already lost all I had to lose. And I had everything to regain through this journey she proposed. "Alright...I'll go with you. But you must be tired, hungry. Tonight, we can stay at my house. I want to talk about a few things with you." She nodded, and after paying the landlord, we left to make the walk home.
   The night was clear, a million stars visible as we walked up the path that ran through the forest to the house I'd built. I murmured as we walked, "I used to think this was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen, having the heavens open above me like this. I seem to have lost my taste for it now, though. It was something Sula and I often shared." The wind whispered through the treetops, sending cold fingers to caress the back of my neck as we walked, only adding to my mood of melancholy. My soft monologue was a distraction for me, pulling my mind from the questions the tumbled endlessly through it. I finally put them aside as the house came into view between the trees, resigning myself to waiting until my young companion had eaten and slept before pursuing them.

Wed, 24 Jul 2002 16:21:11 GMT

Well, it's incomplete, and subject to revision. But the story seems to have become two, or rather one seen from two viewpoints.

Meh. It got slightly eaten...the LJ-cut tag ate the first part of it. It's back now, though...This post has also been updated with the filler some people requested, so...re-read it if yer interested.

  A deep sigh filled the room. I had ample time to realise that it came from me as I sat trying to compose a letter for Jal. He was still sleeping, still recovering from whatever it was that had been done to him. He hadn't woken since that night, two days ago now, when I'd been visited.
  "My dearest Jal," I murmured, starting once more, as I had four times already. "I'm sorry that things have had to happen this way...no, no, no." I tore the paper from the pad and compressed it into a tight ball before tossing it into the wastepaper basket. Things were not going well. If only he would wake up...
  I glanced over to the bed. Jal lay, as he had since I had held him in my arms and comforted him. He hadn't woken through my ministrations, seemingly blissfully unaware of the damage done to him. Thankfully, nothing too serious had happened, and although he would be nursing quite a few sore bones when he woke, I'd managed to minimise the effects with regular bathing in the hot waters of the spring. But the worst pain is still to come, I thought, before berating myself for thinking along those lines again. I had to stay resolute, strong, to be able to cope with this. I turned back to the writing, but I couldn't stay focused on the task.
  I sighed again, letting the pen fall and crossing to the bed. I sat, clinging to Jal's paw, then lifting it to rub it to my cheek, not wanting to let go. Tonight, they'd come for me. Tonight, I'd have to leave all that I had behind and start a new life. I had no idea what to expect, and I was afraid. The tears that I'd been holding in for the last nights finally escaped, running freely down my cheeks.
  The tears were a healing force, purging the pain and stress from my body and allowing me to think more clearly. I brought the paper to the bed and sat with one paw running through my mate's fur as I wrote, and the words flowed more easily now.
  It was a long few hours later when I sat, the letter finally finished, at least as far as it could be, words being as limited as they were. I gazed out of the window at the sunset, framed by the trees outside, a glorious fire in the sky, and thought about the future, the past, and for a fleeting moment I felt a sense of elation, of freedom. Then I realised that there was a figure silhouetted against the orange of the sky, and knew it was time to go. Resolute, I rose, showing none of the inner turmoil I felt as I bent to seal Jal's sleep with one last kiss, whispered a soft "Forgive me, love..." to him, and strode from our house of three years, going forth to meet my future.

  As sleep and nightmare finally relinquished their holds on me, I drifted back to consciousness, wincing as the bright afternoon sunlight lanced into sensitive eyes. My body ached all over, feeling as if it had been through several wars, on the losing side. I lay there for a moment, scanning over my confused memories and allowing myself to adjust to the pain enough to move. What was the time? Sula could at least have closed the curtains, if she was going out. Suddenly something clicked. Sula...what happened to Sula?
  I tried to sit up, wincing as the movement produced fresh agonies from my bruised muscles. Glimpses of recollection flashed before my eyes, seeing Sula on the bed, five intruders facing her. Seeing one turn, and then pain ripping through my body. Little more would emerge from my jumbled memory, other than the sense that I had to find Sula. Now.
  Ignoring the pain, I staggered from the bed, lurching a little as my recently underworked body protested the idea. The bathroom was empty, the kitchen the same. A quick search told me that the rest of the house was similarly unoccupied. Of course, she might have just gone down to the village to get something, I thought, not exactly reassured by the idea, but comforted a little, at least. I made my way to the bathroom and splashed a little cold water on my face, taking a long look at myself in the mirror. I looked thinner than I remembered, the rich red of my fur a little paler and thinner in places. I looked haggard, and tired. What could have changed me so much in only a few days? I stretched, grunting softly as I flexed my shoulder muscles, and wandered back into the bedroom.
  The room was filled with a mixture of confusing scents. There was my musk, of course, mingled with a little sweat, a hint of Sula's warm presence, the fresh, clear scent of the flowers sitting in a vase on the windowsill, and one unfamiliar smell. I sniffed carefully, trying to pin down the source of the strange tang, then shrugged and dismissed it, opening the windows to air out the room. Turning, I saw a single folded sheet of paper lying on the dresser, a few words written in Sula's flowing script decorating the uppermost side.
My dearest Jal...
I took the paper and sat of the edge of the bed, not wanting to open it. Sula would usually leave me a note if she was going out, but this was obviously something longer than that. I wanted to know what had happened, but I was afraid of what it could mean. Finally, I let out a soft sigh and unfolded the sheet, prepared, I thought, for anything.

<span style="margin-left:40; width:100¢><i>My dearest Jal...    Even the best of things must come to an end, it seems. Much as I regret it, I must leave you. Believe me, if I could stay I would....    I can't explain where I'm going, because I don't know myself. Three night ago, a group came to me, an emissary from a hidden place, a place of shadows. They want to take me with them, Jal, and I can't deny them. You've felt their power for yourself. All I could do was take enough time to make sure you were going to be alright. As I write this, you're still sleeping, recovering from what happened.    I'm sorry that I can't be there in person to tell you this, but you were still in no state to accept something like this on power of faith alone, and at least this way you have a tangible memory that you can look at later, more objectively.    These last three years together have been a joy for me, a wonderful time spent with the one I love. All that we had, all that we built together will remain, along with this promise,    No matter what the distance between us, to the ends of the earth, and for all eternity, I will always love you. And one day, if I can, I'll come back to you.    Good luck and safe journeys to you, dearheart.      Your loving mate,        ~ Sula ~ </i></span>   A tear splashed onto the page, smearing the ink of the last word, and I realised I was weeping. All I felt, though, was a terrible numbness, an emptiness in my heart as I absorbed the knowledge that my beloved had gone. I sat for a long moment, staring at the words, unwilling to believe them, the only sound the wind rustling the leaves of the trees outside the window.   "All that we built together..." The words sounded ludicrous to me now. What was any of this without the one who inspired it? I hid my face in my paws, the paper fluttering to the ground, tears flowing freely.   At some point in the next few hours, I crawled onto the bed and curled up, hugging her pillow to me like some kind of talisman to sanity in the face of the grief that threatened to consume me. And I slept once more, dreaming of all I'd lost.

Tue, 23 Jul 2002 15:48:44 GMT

The first part of a story I'm working on...comments, please?

  I jerked awake, glancing blearily around the room through eyes still sleep-fuzzed. What had woken me? Whatever it was must have packed quite a punch to break through my normally heavy sleep. I rubbed my eyes with one paw, a million disjointed thoughts racing through my head, not sticking one to the other. I glanced over to where my mate slept peacefully, seemingly undisturbed, and the sight calmed me a little. As long as my Jal was there, things couldn't be too bad.
  I winced as a little stinging sweat ran into my left eye. Now that I thought about it, I was soaking, sweat matting the fur of my face, my arms, my legs, trickling between my breasts. I closed my eyes, sinking into the calming ritual taught to me by my mother, the flash of regret crossing my mind as always when I thought of her and where she might be now. But the inner sight was still with me, allowing me to delve within my body and cleanse myself of the symptoms of terror. The thoughts changed their flavour now, becoming less of a frantic "Where is it?" and more of a measured "What was it?". What could have provoked such a reaction in me? I hadn't felt anything that intense since...well...since the slaving raid on my village that had left me an orphan and broken my final links to my past. But as the solution didn't seem to want to come to me for now, I put it to the back of my mind and concentrated on more tangible concerns.
  The stone flags of the floor were cold to my paws at first, absorbing a little warmth as I crossed the room, heading for the bathroom. Having a hot spring conveniently near had been a prime consideration in the location of our home, so lovingly built by the paws of my beloved, meaning that we always had access to warm water whenever we needed it. And right now, I needed it. I slipped into the shallow end of the pool which served as a bath and settled myself just below the surface, allowing the flow of warm water to soothe and cleanse my body.
  I suddenly awoke once more, disoriented at first, not knowing where I was. The panic returned for a moment, then faded as I recognised the familiar surroundings of the bathroom and relaxed into the warm caress of the water. A glimpse at the clock told me that I'd slept in the pool for a little over half an hour. But then I tensed, realising that the sound that had roused me from my light slumber was still there, a soft rustle, like cloth drawn against flesh. The sound was no less unnerving for its quietness, pervading the room and making me glance around wild-eyed, looking for the source. The room was empty, besides myself, but something had to be making the sound. I eased myself slowly, cautiously from the bath, dropping to a crouch and moving silently over to the wall. My robe was in easy reach and I shrugged myself into it, any protection being better than none, and my nakedness giving me a sense of vulnerability. The sound had grown louder, but was still gentle, a whisper at the back of my hearing as I fled the bathroom, seeking the comfort of my bed.   Dancing across the cold stone floor, I failed to notice the change in the room. I slid between the sheets, seeking the warmth of my mate, and a soft whimper escaped me as I realised he was gone.
  Strong hands gripped me, turned me on the bed as I struggled with them. Although I could feel them, could see the indentations on my slender arms where they held me, the hands themselves were transparent, incorporeal...and immune to my blows. My struggles ceased as my eyes took in the vision before me, my mind filled with fear.
  Five robed and hooded figures stood before me, silent and still, the only sign of life the fiery eyes that danced within the recesses of each hood. They were tall, easily a head taller than me, and seeming even larger from my position on the bed. The source of the rustling sound was now revealed as the large, bat-like wings each figure possessed, towering above their heads, the tips brushing the high ceiling of the room.
  Unable to move, unable to think, the only thing that existed to me now was these figures, and the panicked words running through my head. Who are you? How did you get into our house? Jal, where are you? Jal..?
  A low growl echoed from the hood of the central robe, a deep chuckle, filled with malice. "None of that is important now. All that matters is that you are ours, Sula. And we have come for you."
  "Oh gods..." the words had left my mouth before I could stop them. He could hear my thoughts...that meant...
  "Yes," the voice was amused. "You know who we are. And you know better than to resist us, little one. Come with us." He reached one robed paw out to her. "It is time."
  A guttural grunt emerged from the robe nearest the door, and the leader spun, time seeming to slow as I saw Jal standing there. His mouth was half-open, one paw reaching out to me as his eyes, showing fear and anger, took in the scene. The next second I gasped, as he was thrown backwards, hitting the wall and falling in a crumpled heap. I wanted to run to him, to help him, but I was still held immobile by the unseen hands.
  The lead figure turned back to me, chuckling once more. "And now what, little one? Come with us. The alternative," One hand gestured, taking in the bruised form of Jal, "is this."
Defiance reared its head within me. Maybe I had no choice, but I wasn't going to leave unquestioningly on their terms.
  "I will go with you." A soft hiss greeted these words, a sound of pleasure, it seemed. "But only if I can tend to my mate first."
  "As you wish. We will return in three days. And you had best be ready for us..." As the last sibilant sound faded, so did the robes before me, the terrible silence giving way to the normal night-time sounds of the forest around the house. I found I could move again, and ran to Jal, cradling his head in my lap. He stirred, groaning as the motion jarred his battered body, and opened his eyes.
  "Sula..? What...happened?"
  I kissed his nose. "Shh...don't worry, love. It's over now." But the words sounded empty and hollow in my ears. "Everything's going to be fine."
  The last thing that ran through my mind after helping Jal to our bed and settling next to him was far from comforting, though. They have come for me. They have come for me and I must go. But how can I tell him?
  I sighed, and fell into a deep sleep, nestled against Jal's warm side.

Mon, 08 Jul 2002 15:57:22 GMT

.:: Once... ::.
~~* ~§~ *~~

You once asked me,
How best to go about it,
How to say it just right,
And I answered.
~*~
You once asked me,
To make you happy,
To show you love,
And I answered.
~*~
You once asked me,
To leave it all behind,
To fly, unbridled, with you,
And I answered.
~*~
You once told me,
The end was near,
The joy was over,
And there were no more answers.
~*~
You once left me,
Cold, naked, afraid,
Alone in the dark,
Searching for the answers.
~*~
I once missed you,
But now no longer,
Resigned to a world,
Without your presence.
~*~
Once more, I answer,
I loved you, yet still,
My world continues,
Regardless, endless.
~*~
And what was once,
May be no longer,
But the joyous memories,
Live on in me.

Dedicated to Ordos Ren.
©2002 Jacel Starwanderer

Mon, 25 Feb 2002 17:14:25 GMT

A light in the darkness,
A diamond in the rough,
Could I ever deserve you?
Could I ever do enough?

An endless sense of wonder,
A brightly shining star,
For always, 'til the end of time,
To me that's what you are.

(c) 2002 Shades of Life

Freedom

Sun, 24 Feb 2002 03:20:14 GMT

Open your eyes.
Face the light of a new day.
Fight the premonitions of boredom, pain, worry...
This time you'll do things your way.

Break the routine.
No breakfast, skip the morning coffee.
Simply get in the car and drive...
Just for today, you're free.

Leave town.
Head for the green wilderness.
Walk among nature's wonders...
Leave behind the world's stress.

Rest a while.
Relax, take off your coat and shoes.
The whole world is yours, there for the taking...
All you have to do is choose.

But no.
The night draws in, shadows grow deep.
As you return to the safety of the city...
And the divine release of sleep.

And what now?
Cold, dark, alone in your bed.
"Maybe tomorrow I'll stay out there..."
The dream running through your head.

(c) 2002 Shades of Life

For Jacel...

Sat, 02 Feb 2002 00:22:12 GMT

He sleeps.

Lost in a world of fantasy, he tumbles, exultant,
The wind beneath his wings a living thing,
Buoying him ever upwards on wild flights of joy

The world tilts, slides away in an effortless curve,
The glorious fire of the sun drawing him on,
To far shores, distant horizons, forgotten dreams...

But now the sunset fades, the world grows faint,
As sleep gives way to consciousness,
And joy returns to despair.

He wakes.

And stretches, trapped within a body not his own,
Mourning the loss of scales, wings, tail...
And longing for the dreams to return.

(c) 2002 Shades of Life

Test post

Fri, 01 Feb 2002 20:49:18 GMT

Well, this seems to be the tradition for the first post. I'm testing that everything's set up OK.