The Unheard Voice

This one I wrote some time ago. I could continue on it, and make it longer and more detailed and actually contain a plot, but it was an extended introduction I used for Dave and Aevan when I use to roleplay. It was s’pose to be built on within the roleplay, with otehr characters joining in by otehr writers. But… I only used it once or twice, and many people stayed away from it for some strange reason… -seriously doesn’t know- Tell me what you think pleaaase.

A girl screamed, but her gasp for breath was cut short, ending her life with a gurgle of panic. Blood dripped down the brick wall of the dark alleyway, the distinct large figure of a man bending over the pale and lithe form of the teenager. Her throat was almost completely hacked off, the muscle, bone and cartilage of what once might have been a beautiful neck was cast across the ground like discarded rubbish – which it now most certainly was. 

A light and jovial chuckle sounded from the silhouette, a grin across his smug face as he bent closer, his nostrils flaring as he smelt her torn flesh, the sharp scent of blood cutting at his senses, but he loved it. He loved every moment of his triumph. Until it was cut short. 

The wiz of an object flying at high speeds through the air caught the man’s attention, forcing him to look up, which he certainly shouldn’t have done. A moment later, a fairly well made arrow had pierced his right eye. Medieval, perhaps, but affective nonetheless. Through the thud of impact, no one who didn’t have stronger hearing than a normal person would’ve heard the smashing of glass, and no one but the victim of the arrow would’ve felt the certain liquidated metal that begun to run through his veins. 

Hissing, the man exposed his canines – no, tusks – and ripped the shaft and arrowhead clean from his eye socket, seeing he no longer possessed a right eye. Wincing in pain, the liquid metal running through his veins, the man stood up, and in one swift movement he disappeared into the night, to surely meet his death. 

A quiet whoop of joy and triumph came from the archer, his metal and modern bow lowered, and the spare arrow – just in case – stored neatly inside a small leather quiver on his back. 

“Okay, tell me that wasn’t fun?” He asked the two people behind him, shifting his body slightly so he could see them better. His fit frame was in great contrast to one of his companions, who was thin – but at least no one pestered him about it anymore. The feminine silhouette behind the thin and youngest of the three chuckled, her usual quietness broken by the new event in the night. 

“Yeh, it was fun. But if you didn’t just install the new formula on arrows, and made bullets out of ‘em too, it would’ve been a lot more fun for me.” She stated, turning around and walking in the opposite direction the killer of the adolescent girl went. As she approached the head of the alleyway, the pool of light that was cast from the street lamp illuminated her, before she turned around and was once more a silhouette. “I guess I’ll be seeing you two later.” She waved goodbye and walked away, the sound of her boots against the concrete fading into nothing before the last two companions turned to face each other. 

“You’ve been rather quiet tonight, Aevan.” The archer remarked, folding his bow in a way that showed he’d done it many times before. Slowly, he hooked it onto his back, near the quiver, and glanced down the alleyway in the direction on the killer. Shrugging, he completely ignored the dead girl and walked after the tracks of their female friend. 

Aevan, on the other hand, frowned after his friend, remarked something under his breath, and glanced sadly down at the teenager before sullenly following his friend. “Yeh, well, you’ve had nights when you were quieter, Dave.” Aevan replied, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. “Dun ya think we shuld, uh…” He glanced back, the pale form of the teenager and glistening blood making him slightly nauseous. 

“No, we shouldn’t do anything about it, it’s not out job.” Dave replied, sighing sadly to himself. He glanced up at the street lamp as the reached the end of the short alleyway; his blond hair cut short and distant blue eyes sad in the bright glow of the light. “But I wish we’d get to these attacks quicker.” 

Aevan nodded, his longer and messy died red and black hair covering most of his face, which was naturally pale. His distinct features weren’t as sharp as his taller friends, darker perhaps, but certainly not as friendly as Dave’s. Aevan was what you’d call all right, not necessarily gifted in his appearances, but then again, he didn’t care. Pale green eyes glared out into the night, his black T-shirt under his dark grey coat was two sizes too large and torn in certain places, just as his messy dark blue jeans. Blood stained his clothes, which added to faithful appearances to ward off people, he hated it when people paid him attention he didn’t want – and dressing this way got him that attention – but he hated a perfect stranger coming up to him more. 

Dave, on the other hand, with his clean features, neatly cut hair and even neater grey shirt, loved being, well, the centre of attention – but not in ways he didn’t approve. His pale jeans moved with his form as he turned left, the opposite direction of the female friend, and calmly walked away from the horrific scene of a poor girl’s murder. 

Aevan sighed. No matter about his appearance, he certainly was a nice kid. But Dave, now you had your classic prat. How the two of them were good friends eluded their other companions at anytime. An age difference of five years – Aevan 16 and Dave 21 – a strange selection of stereotypes and even stranger backgrounds, these two would normally be outright enemies. 

But who cared. These were the streets of a collapsing city. And they were part of a group of people trying to keep it together. 

But for how long they could manage to keep it from tumbling to the ground, they didn’t know. 

Yeh, well, Hi. I really don’t feel like reviewing someone else’s blog. What I do feel like doing is posting junk I’ve written (by the way, I’m not saying their crappy, I just don’t want to sound up myself and say they rule… when they don’t.). So, yeh, whatever and here, a sonnet I was pretty much forced into writing, a poem that I also was forced into writing and… OMG another piece of writing I was forced to do (in my art class… I just like the description).

Lost forever and Alone Always – Sonnet
It’s always just a lingering thought
Lost in the swelling waters of a Reverie
Where things that were neve lost are being sought
Drowning in the tide of stifled memory
Could it be, will it ever?
The under currant dragging me down under
This could never be a ‘forever’
Like in a rip I’m being dragged away
This grip of emotional decay
More than this pain? I could never ever last
The downward spiral of this deceit
It should be thrown into the dark and morbid past
How could I ever keep this from you?
Of my understanding little secret self.
 

One Window is All I Need – Poem
One window is all I need
To expose my lies and insecurities,
For my emotion to come swelling back.
So instead of losing all that was said
And to stop another mask being put in place
One small window is all I will ever need.
Will you ever hear what I’m trying to say?
My words lost, the window open too wide
Exposed, am I just a lie?
Will you ever see what is there?
Is it obvious? This hidden despair?
This window exposing my secret self
For you to understand, one window is all I need.

Art Short Story about art Piece

 The Night’s Friend and the Hunter’s Game

 The moon was lingering far overhead and the stars twinkling down upon the red sands of the beach, illuminating what would be a dark and lonely night. The wind whistled across the waves that beat down relentlessly on the sands, refining the broken pieces of shell and rocks. The red of the sand darkened nearer to the water, the loud roaring of the ocean waves slowing down to a gentle lapping, so quiet you really had to listen closely to hear them. The night was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky, the velvety darkness pressing down on the world and its inhabitants.
Above the reddened sand and green waves of the ocean flew a silvery grey beast, its charcoal black wings beating to a rhythm only the animal could hear. A howl resounded from its open muzzle, echoing across the great expanse of sea and land. The rhythmic beating of its wings slowed, and the dog like beast surged downward, curving near the end of its nose dive and landing gracefully on the red sand, the water lapping around its great paws.
The Dog’s oversized tail swished playfully behind it, the great wings straightening so they reached for the sky, attempting to touch the far off stars. The Dog ruffled the floppy purple hair atop its head, flicking the falling fragments from its black, abyss-like eyes. He lowered his muzzle to the sand, sniffing suspiciously at the last few impressions of feet – which we so far gone a human would hardly have noticed them. The beast raised its head, glancing over its shoulder. The maker of the foot prints had gone that way. There were around three culprits, and the Dog could smell a sense of purpose with the last few hints that they had passed.
The large Canine howled again, raising its nose to the sky in a salute to the brilliantly shining stars and softly glowing moon, a thank-you for lending their light on such a night. The Dog growled as sand rustled behind him, the few whispers of the returning passers-by at this Point. He stared into the darkness, blessing his light reflecting eyes as he spotted the Hunters.
Fear and apprehension slipped its way into the cold interior of the Hounds mind, clouding its once steely judgment from any coherent thought.
The Dog howled mournfully. A gun went off. The thud of the fallen beast echoed across the silently lapping waves, the wind whistling across the ocean and sand, whipping up particles and throwing them into the eyes of the Hunters, and into the pooling blood of the beast.
The beast slowly shut its eyes, the darkness of the night pressing in on his consciousness, the cold tendrils of death creeping in, shutting off his thoughts, blacking out the pain and the joyful cries of the Hunters.
To them the Hound was nothing more than game. To the Night the Hound was nothing less than a friend.

Over 

Isn’t it… LAME??? -blinkblink- I don’t really like it, but all my otehr short stories are kinda… weird… O_o;; But yah, I like the one I wrote for lit. It’s based on a character of mine and what happens in a certain spot of his life. Like… a new student coming and the break-up of a relationship. Doesn’t go into to much detail over the break-up though, and what it put’s him through. I might make it into a multi-chapter story on FictionPress.com… -thinks-

Aww well. Bye bye.

OMG HOLIDAYS!! -does a strange little dance- I GET TO SLEEP IN AND BE MORE ALIVEEEE!!! -gigglesnort-

BYEEEE -runs off screaming excitedly-

Rockeh the Strange