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| Celtic Radio Community > Short Stories > Help Between Authors |
| Posted by: greenldydragon 15-Jun-2004, 08:02 PM |
| The sky was grey, the clouds all but forgotten in the all to real mist. The mist covered their eyes, like a veil trying desperately to hold something back. That was what was chilling her to the bone, not the cold, not the rain, but the fear. The fear that whatever was being held back, might at any moment be released and set upon them. But even more than the fear that gnawed at her with every step, she dreaded what lay ahead. If she could, she would have released the beast herself, just as long as she would not have to continue. If only her wish could be granted, and all her worries ended. No more need to worry about the water soaking into her boots. No more need to worry about the rags that clung to her body, in the illusion they were clothes. And best of all, no more memories. Next to the fear, the memories were the hardest to deal with. The memories of her husband, her children, and her life. The memories of how they had smiled, how they laughed, and most of all, how they had loved her. Those were the hardest memories to deal with while walking in a mist that made you feel like you were safe, yet made you know in your heart of hearts you really weren?t. Because only in those memories could she feel safe and warm, and in them let her guard down, just as she could around the people in them. Yet, knowing that she would never see them again, hear their laughs, or see their smiles at accomplishing something new, tore her heart out. Knowing that she would never again feel their embraces made her realize what real emotional pain was, it wasn?t something that you could explain in a book, or understand from a story, it was something that made her feel that although she was still alive, she felt like she wasn?t. The pain made her eyes fill with water, and unbidden, they came flowing down her face. Her breathing, which was normally a constant rhythm, came in uneasy gasps, as she tried to push away the unwanted images. Her hands sought her face, but she could not feel them brush away the droplets of water on her cheeks, she couldn?t feel anything. A stark blackness filled her gaze, as she watched in her minds eye her beloved husband, the only person who she loved more than life, the only person who had fully understood her, die for her. Her arms ached to hold him tight, and when it was time for her to set his spirit free, all she wanted was to hold on tight. It had seemed a dream, one that she was sure she would eventually wake up from, one she prayed would leave her be. Any suggestions? |
| Posted by: Angel Whitefang (Rider) 30-Aug-2004, 12:07 PM |
| pretty simple |
| Posted by: Haldur 04-Dec-2004, 04:58 PM |
| I love it! I can feel every part of the story, smell, sense the feeling of tears falling on your skin...that's the magic of a story and I believe you've harnessed it. There's such emotion to draw out of the story, which is the best part of speaking from the third person as if though you were pouring out their thoughts, fears, dreams, lusts, etc. I love the way you portray that here and I appreciate hearing your descriptive, vivid voice shining through. Thank you! |
| Posted by: greenldydragon 04-Dec-2004, 05:33 PM |
 I'm honored that you liked it! Believe me, I spent a long time deciding how to frame each sentence and I'm glad that you think I got the feeling through! I haven't worked on this story for a while though, because I don't know how to continue, eventhough I know where the story wants to go. Your kind words mean a lot, thank you for taking the time to read it Haldur! |
| Posted by: greenldydragon 04-Dec-2004, 06:37 PM |
| Here is what I have added since the original post (not a lot in the least), but if anyone has any suggestions about keeping it going please give them! A sharp pain tingled up her arm as the person chained in front of her stumbled and fell. It was a welcomed distraction, though when she remembered who was in front of her, it no longer was welcomed or a distraction. Leal had been with them when it all started, the cries, the fighting, and the losing. |
| Posted by: Haldur 21-Dec-2004, 05:01 PM |
| A wonderful addition! Keep up the great work and sentence structure...feel free to share as much as you can (we writers must do so or we'll go crazy!) |
| Posted by: Haldur 28-Dec-2004, 07:58 PM |
| Been working on a particular story in my head for about a week and a half now...don't know what to do with it, how to start it, or what to say. Just need to get it out I suppose. It's pretty much a medieval fantasy sort of story along the lines of Willow or some of Tolkien's work, though not so indepth as Tolkien. There's lots of fighting, magic, prophecy, humor, and lots of other good stuff...I just can't find the time or the inspiration to get it off the ground. Any advice? |
| Posted by: urian 28-Dec-2004, 08:08 PM | ||
My first piece fo advice is to get offline. I thought it was crazy when I was first given that little nugget but it's true. being online can eat up so much time and you wont even realize it. When I have a case of procrastination, I try to set small goals for myself in regards to a story. I'll try to write the first line(or any line) then try a paragraph. I'll do this in a notebook usually and in a quite spot or a place that I feel I can be myself and relax enough to write. I'll start with one line and usually write a few pages before I realize it. I guess yoda said it best though. he said:" DO or Do not. there is no try.: ommmmmmmmmm   |
| Posted by: Aaediwen 28-Dec-2004, 09:05 PM | ||
Sounds like you're already started. How does it start out? where is your main character when he or she gets involved in the story? |
| Posted by: Haldur 29-Dec-2004, 12:34 PM |
| Well, in short (as I have it written now) the beginning is sort of a flashback, then it evolves into the first scene in the story's "present tense". The main character, Haldur, is standing up in a prison/dungeon cell, bound by chains, listening to the shreaking/singing of one of the guards of the dungeon, Gruff. I know what you're thinking, Haldur...that's you! But not really...see, I started writing this story about a year ago (that never materialized more than a small paragraph in a Word document) and the name Haldur was actually the name for a civilization I was creating in my story, the Haldurians. The name sort of stuck, I started using it here on HR, and decided to sort of carry on the name as the protagonist in my story. Basically, he's been imprisoned, his memory erased, and he starts finding out he has special abilities. Come to find out, most of this "prison" is actually the result of the evil powers of an entity known only as The Sorcerer. That's the basics of what I have so far, though I've left some details out so I don't ruin it! I'm gonna get cracking on it tonight! |
| Posted by: Aaediwen 29-Dec-2004, 09:14 PM |
| /me provides Haldur with a gallon of oil for the lamp, and half a gallon of ink for his pen. SCHRIEBEN, MEIN FRUEIND. SCHRIEBEN |
| Posted by: Haldur 01-Jan-2005, 04:40 PM |
| so how's everyone's writings coming about? (scratch me head wondering where greenldydragon's been? anxious to hear some more posts  |
| Posted by: urian 01-Jan-2005, 05:23 PM |
| I hope to have more for the public by the end of the week. I dunno ,though. I guess we'll see |
| Posted by: greenldydragon 02-Jan-2005, 12:32 PM |
| I have been procrastinating like normal... haven't written any more since my last post...really should keep working on it..maybe I'll start that now...once I find it. |
| Posted by: Haldur 03-Jan-2005, 06:37 PM |
| That has been my problem of late as well although now I believe I'm hitting a big spurt in my writing...currently working on a medieval/fantasy story and it is fun! Hope to hear some more work from you, greenldydragon! |
| Posted by: greenldydragon 30-Mar-2006, 05:10 PM |
| I'm so glad that you are writing so well! Please post some samples! As for me, I just wrote some more, although I'm not sure it is as good as my previous posts. Anyway here it is.. As the whole village went up in flames, he had just stood in her doorway staring as though in confusion over the cause of the cries of anguish surrounding him. She had tried to get past him to help her people fight off the enraged enemy, but no matter how hard she pushed he would not let her leave her children. The boys had been crying in the back of the wooden hut, clutching to them their birthing day gifts, wondering what they had done wrong. She hadn’t been able to explain to them that they hadn’t done anything wrong, that it wasn’t their fault that this attack was happening. All she had been able to do was hand each a small knife to protect themselves if the time came. The pain she had been trying to suppress quickly encompassed all of her thoughts and feelings, leaving no room for her to even contemplate helping Leal back to his feet. The chaffing of her raw wrists encircled by blocks of unfeeling iron did nothing to help stop the ache spreading outwards from her heart. In her minds eye she relived those horrible moments over and over again in the few seconds the slave line paused. Leal’s body finally giving way as he was stabbed by an enemy weapon, her launch into the village’s central meeting space only to be met with the vision of her beloved husband on his knees, a knife at his throat and his hair held by the enemy’s commander. A soft wind blew her disintegrating clothing against her thighs, heightening the remembrance of her two sons rushing past her to seek their father’s supposed protection. Her body began convulsing in shudders that started at her smallest toe and continued up to the tips of her brown hair. The rattling of chains signaling the restart of the slave chain’s travel through the swamp rekindled itself into a maniacal laugh resounding as her two small children rushed towards death, to the enemy’s delight. Smiling, their adversary dropped his knife, keeping hold of her husband’s hair, pulled his sword and chopped Sein and Tahir in half. She hadn’t realized she had cried out until cold, hard grey eyes focused on her, and their owner while still smiling fluidly brought his weapon around and sliced off her husband’s head. She must have made a sound as her sister, Laveda, gently touched her with her chains from behind. “Your tears light their way to Aishohi,” her soft, darkly musical voice insinuated itself into the silent mist, “but your grief causes pain to those still with you.” As if supporting her sister’s claim, an enemy warrior rode up the line towards them and hit Leal in front of her. His elderly body, already hunched over from pain and grief, collapsed again into the oozing noxious mixture of water, mud and plants that was their surroundings. |