Creative writing log

KABLOOEY

Hey. I hope it's alright to keep a thread here that I update daily with creative writings. I have no writing skills in any way but I have a lot of time to myself in the coming weeks and wanted to engage my creative side as much as possible. I did around 1 hours work today. I just found a random online article that advised starting off with word associations and similies and trying to create metaphors, and somehow from there I concocted the following tale. I'd appreciate any feedback - the stuff I post will be very different every day I hope. I'll do my best to contribute elsewhere to return the favour.

The Sun sets each day in its familiar bed. It needs its rest too; it can’t be easy bringing warmth and happiness to a world of despair. Like a volcanic eruption it rises again, spreading its addictive rays at terrific speed, covering all before it with the most gentle of alarm clock beeps. Not many would rush to hit snooze on the Sun but only the Sun itself. As the day wears on, its shades of yellow, red and orange indicate its enthusiasm and one must credit the Sun for the enthusiasm it shows day in and day out. But in its old age the Sun must often cool down. It finds comfort momentarily behind its fluffy friends. Momentarily, as the impatience from below filters through before its fiery belly has been reenergised. It must keep smiling until the childlike excitement below wears thin. Only then do we allow the Sun the luxury of rest as it slowly moves from the horizon like a flaming drunk stumbling to their abode. One should always wish the Sun sweet dreams to show we care.

Not enough times does the Sun hear our well wishes. It gets upset by the constant pressure on it to deliver. Many years ago it had loyal followers – people who paid it regular homage, people who lived to show their appreciation. They didn’t call it ‘It’ nor did they demand its continuous love and affection – they merely worshipped it; called it their God. The Sun wishes that time would return. It sends us warnings to display its unease. Nothing too drastic for it is a kind soul deep down but its relationship with the people below grows thin.

The waves, controlled by the Sun’s antithesis, the Moon, are more youthful than the Sun and boast this through their relentless and untiring activity. Their primary concern is adding to their collection of valuables – they crash in and take hold of what they can, like a child with one swoop at a candy jar. As if they do not know that they have all the time in the world.Perhaps their pleasure comes not in the valuables they obtain, but through the nature of their collection. Their somewhat menacing nature can alarm those on the land before them. Sometimes, we wish the waves would grow up, and not taunt and tease the inhabitants of the land. But, much like a sociopathic killer, they show no remorse when they take all that lies before them; all they leave is the debris and the reminder that they too exist on this planet. Other times they crash the shores like a gentle breeze, comforting those who lie in their path; these drastic mood swings cannot be controlled. Perhaps, they too, like the Sun, demand more recognition than we afford them. It is not easy to understand the way of the waves.

The people of the land, as complicated as each wave and ray of sun that protrude upon them, have forgotten the past that has ensured their existence; they disregard the Sun and the waves unless they are of benefit to them. They steal from the Sun and the waves to prolong their survival, never considering the notion that their survival depends on their relationship withthem. They no longer pay homage to their overpowering entities and, yet, they now, more than ever, they take and take. If there is to be any hope for the people, they must change their ways. The waves are keeping notes and have made plans to contact the Sun but first there are millennia-old matters to be resolved between the Moon and its brother.

KABLOOEY

"KABLOOEY SHAZOOTA AZJETERZEN" roared the menacing halfwit as he raised his newfound treasure. With his deep release of breath a spark was drawn. He pointed at those who lay before him. "KABLOOEY SHAZOOTA AZJETERZEN." And with that exclamation nothing more lay before him. He moved on with a grin that only a beast can muster, leaving behind him a parting of ash clouds; leaving behind him one survivor.

Mercution knew from before he could speak that he was special. It wasn't a thought, it was an innate feeling. Having been born into a family of wizards he knew little of the world outside the Light. He did not possess any evident magical ability, but this was not rare for wizards of his age. His parents were High Wizards and were looked up to by their community of Noble Wizards. They made their home far, far away from the darkland where trolls and crions took rest. They chose the path of the Light because they dare not choose the other.

Milito was a Szendrithe, a miniscule being that shared this magical world with wizards, trolls, leopards and crions. Not many knew of the existence of the Szendrithe for it was their purpose to remain hidden; through hiding they not only had comfort in the solace of their survival, but they could ensure the continued existence of the world they inhabited. They often lived amongst the wise leopards, for it had always been the safest option.

Mercution was 17 when he first encountered a crion. He had snuck out of the Light, a habit he was becoming quite fond of. He was attempting the art of flight, a skill his friends were picking up around him, and wanted to practice out of sight. His exuberant nature led him to climb a lengthy staggered cliff and take aim. He took a deep breath and leapt. As he fell and tumbled at great speed over rocks and marsh he was suddenly stopped by a small spongey object. He set his sights on what looked to be a purple sponge, about half his height. With a slight grumble, 16 pairs of eyes appeared around the object and an enormous mouth spread open, leaving only traces of purple behind. A thundering melody erupted from the beast but Mercution stood his ground. As the noise grew it pierced his long, elegant ears. Without thought Mercutio bellowed as loud as he could. At the height of his roar, Mercution closed his eyes for a split second, and when they reopened there were no teeth, no eyes, not even a trace of purple before him. After a lengthy pause, in which he wondered had he just imagined it all, Mercutio took stead and rose back up the cliff and into the Light. 15 years, without mention of that day, would pass before Mercution encountered a crion again.

Milito hopped from the suffocating ashes of Klantor, a leopard he called home for 3 years. He was alone again and with the wipeout of this colony he wondered were there any leopards left in the world. At 1/3 of a millimetre Szendrithe tended to go unnoticed by the trolls and crions. Immune to the magic of the wizards who had lost their way Szendrithe, one would imagine, would be quite safe in this world. But as Milito knew all too well, no one was safe in this world; a world where the waxing lyrical waves of a crion could wipe out all existence before it; a world where trolls took pleasure in destroying life; and a world where more and more wizards were losing their way. The Szendrithe existence, and consequently the existence of all life in the world, centred on their ability to coexist with those borne of the Light. Milito would have to move fast.

Agent Weebley

Hi KABLOOEY,

I read your story yesterday, and loved it . . . especially the personification of The Sun . . . a well deserved personification, and quite timely, since yesterday was The Summer Solstice. That video was Mu. Have you ever been to Mu? We went there last year, on our way to Sevenstone in England, but we stopped in Ireland. Full of Druids. We went back to Mu again last night approaching Midnight (DST Canada/US.)

. . . and your also excellent personification of The Moon . . . it was captivating . . . Sunday (today) The Moon is full, and we return once again.

Well done.

Now, I will read your 2nd post.

Agent Weebley

Excellent entrance, KABLOOEY. I think you should stick with it, rather than bounce off to something else. Has Mercution met anyone from Blarnia, yet?

A few tips:

KABLOOEY wrote: »

"KABLOOEY SHAZOOTA AZJETERZEN" roared the menacing halfwit as he raised his newfound treasure. With his deep release of breath a spark was drawn. He pointed at those who lay before him. "KABLOOEY SHAZOOTA AZJETERZEN." And with that exclamation nothing more lay before him. He moved on with a grin that only a beast can muster, leaving behind him a parting of ash clouds; leaving behind him one survivor. [What actually happened there?

Mercution knew from before he could speak that he was special. It wasn't a thought, it was an innate feeling. Having been born into a family of wizards he knew little of the world outside the Light. He did not possess any evident magical ability, but this was not rare for wizards of his age. His parents were High Wizards and were looked up to by their community of Noble Wizards. They made their home far, far away from the darkland where trolls and crions took rest. They chose the path of the Light because they dare not choose the other. [This is where the infodump should end and you should work towards some dialogue or interaction]

Milito was a Szendrithe, a miniscule being that shared this magical world with wizards, trolls, leopards and crions. Not many knew of the existence of the Szendrithe for it was their purpose to remain hidden; through hiding they not only had comfort in the solace of their survival, but they could ensure the continued existence of the world they inhabited. They often lived amongst the wise leopards, for it had always been the safest option. [I think "Milito, the Szendrithe," needs to precipitate into the story a little later. Should crion be Crion?]

Mercution was 17 when he first encountered a crion. He had snuck out of the Light, a habit he was becoming quite fond of. He was attempting the art of flight, a skill his friends were picking up around him, and wanted to practice out of sight. His exuberant nature led him to climb a lengthy staggered cliff and take aim. He took a deep breath and leapt. As he fell and tumbled at great speed over rocks and marsh he was suddenly stopped by a small spongey object. He set his sights on what looked to be a purple sponge, about half his height. With a slight grumble, 16 pairs of eyes appeared around the object and an enormous mouth spread open, leaving only traces of purple behind. A thundering melody erupted from the beast but Mercution stood his ground. As the noise grew it pierced his long, elegant ears. Without thought Mercutio bellowed as loud as he could. At the height of his roar, Mercution closed his eyes for a split second, and when they reopened there were no teeth, no eyes, not even a trace of purple before him. After a lengthy pause, in which he wondered had he just imagined it all, Mercutio took stead and rose back up the cliff and into the Light. 15 years, without mention of that day, would pass before Mercution encountered a crion again. [Mercutio-sp. This is the action that should follow the first paragraph, I would think.]

Milito hopped from the suffocating ashes of Klantor, a leopard he called home for 3 years. He was alone again and with the wipeout of this colony he wondered were there any leopards left in the world. At 1/3 of a millimetre Szendrithe tended to go unnoticed by the trolls and crions. Immune to the magic of the wizards who had lost their way Szendrithe, one would imagine, would be quite safe in this world. But as Milito knew all too well, no one was safe in this world; a world where the waxing lyrical waves of a crion could wipe out all existence before it; a world where trolls took pleasure in destroying life; and a world where more and more wizards were losing their way. The Szendrithe existence, and consequently the existence of all life in the world, centred on their ability to coexist with those borne of the Light. Milito would have to move fast. [You could save Milito for later interaction.]

Don't get me wrong with the comments - I liked it a lot, but the story needs to breathe like a fine wine, run past your nose to smell the wonderful bouquet; spun carefully in the glass so you can see the clarity of what you are about to consume, and sipped lightly so you can appreciate the flavour on different areas of your tongue. Too many wines at once can dull the palate, ending up being being just a typical 2 grape blend.

Leprechaun magic begins with a pinch of Gold . . . about $397,680,405 US worth should do the trick.

KABLOOEY

Just wrote a children's stories today, based on the theme of growing up.
The Mouse that Wanted to Grow Up:

Darcute was taught from an early age to be careful when crossing the road; there were many dangers for a small mouse, cars sped by, hungry birds lurked overhead and giant humans raced past without looking down. Sometimes when people saw Darcute they ran away. He tried to look friendly and smile at them but they often screamed and turned in the opposite direction.

Darcute's mother explained that this was normal. Even though mice meant no harm to anyone, people did not always see it that way. For the reason, Darcute had to always be close to his mother, as she would protect him as best she could. "I want to make friends with a human" said Darcute one day. His mother was not surprised. He was the friendliest little mouse she had ever encountered. "One day you can make friends with whomever you like Darcute but for now you need to have fun being a young mouse." "It is no fun being a little mouse" he exclaimed, "I want to be a grown up mouse like you Mama." "That's funny", replied his mother, "for I would love to be a little mouse like you, again."

Darcute decided he wasn't going to wait until he grew up to make a human friend. His home was across the street from where many people lived in a big building. One night Darcute pretended to sleep beside his mother until he heard her familiar deep breaths to tell him she was fast asleep. He quietly crept from her side and crawled towards the busy road. He waited patiently until no car or human was in sight, and then he darted across the road. The door to the building was left open and Darcute took his chance, sneaking in unnoticed.

The inside of the building was not like anything Darcute had seen before. There were big white doors everywhere he looked and a staircase going upwards. He placed his tiny feet on the first step and used all of his energy to climb onto it. He walked forward a couple of steps and saw a big drop before him and another huge length to the next step. Suddenly, Darcute was scared. There was a big fall between him and the next step. From above he heard a loud bang and the clatter of feet. Within seconds, a woman was making her way down the stairs before him. He tried to squeek hello as she approached in the hope that she could help him. But when the lady saw Darcute she shrieked very loudly and ran back up the stairs. This scared Darcute even more.

Darcute turned around and after several minutes he plucked up the courage to leap back down from the step on which he stood. He quickly ran back out the open door and sped across the road when it was clear. Darcute had never run as fast as he did when returning to his mother. He nestled in beside her and his racing little heart woke her. "Is everything alright Darcute?" she asked. "Yes Mama, just a bad dream" he replied. "Mama, I don't think I want to grow up just yet." His mother smiled gently and snuggled Darcute closer to her body. "That's alright, my son, you have all the time in the world."

KABLOOEY

Another one, dealing with loss:

The Curious Case of Anthony

Davey was a six year old boy with a friend like no other. He called him Anthony the ant and would always look forward to hearing the school bell ring so he could go home and tell Anthony of his day. Anthony lived on Davey's bedroom's window sill, usually marching up and down outside but sleeping on the inner part as it got cold at night. Although Anthony could not speak, Davey knew he enjoyed listening to what had happened at school because he would always stop marching and sit closely as Davey spoke.

"Today I learnt a new word Anthony; hippopotamus." Davey smiled. "My teacher said not many six year olds can say that word." Anthony moved closer to Davey as if to show his pride at the young scholar. Davey would talk to Anthony at the same time everyday after school, before he ate his dinner, watched his favourite television programme, and did his homework. Davey often wished Anthony could speak so he could help him with his homework. Before bed, too, Davey would chat to Anthony as Anthony made the journey into the warmth of Davey's room.

One Friday, there was a spelling test at school and Davey got the best result. He could not wait to tell Anthony and see his reaction. When he got home he did not even tell his parents first; he rushed upstairs to tell his best friend. But when he got to his window, there was no sign of Anthony. He looked outside the sill first, then inside, and finally he checked the intersection. Anthony was no where to be seen.

Davey ran downstairs and told his parents. They agreed to help him look outside. They spent a full hour that evening searching the garden but every ant they came across darted for cover, and Davey knew Anthony would never run away from him. He was very sad going to bed that night as he had no one to talk to. But he was still hopeful of Anthony returning so he left his window slightly ajar and drifted off to sleep.

The next day there was still no sign of Anthony so Davey decided to make missing posters to place in the neighbourhood. He was proud of the posters and knew that if anyone had seen Anthony, they would return him. There was a pole right outside Davey's house that he decided to place the first poster on. As he stuck it firmly to the pole, he thought he was imagining things - there were now two ants on the poster. One he had drawn. But the other was a real ant that had climbed up the pole into Davey's line of sight. The ant stood motionless looking at Davey and straightaway Davey knew it was his best friend.

Suddenly, the ant began to march back down the pole and Davey followed it as it walked from the front garden to the outside pavement, where several other ants were waiting. Before returning to the crowd of ants, Anthony stopped and turned to Davey before getting in line and following the ants down a crack in the pavement. "Goodbye" Davey said with a smile. He knew his best friend was safe and had found his family. Davey went to sleep a very happy boy that night.