It's a wash of swirling colors,
of unbearable noises...
A feeling of unfettered panic that crushes me
like a can between two ever-pressing hands
I can't breathe. I can't. I just can't. Can't
Can't
Can't
It's all crushing me. It's all pushing me.
And I'm hiding, but you can still see me.
But you wont even look at me.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Recap...
Considering that I have had two posts concerning something that doesn't have alot of origin on this site, I figured I'd post a little recap.
Our heroine is a business woman who goes home to visit her parents. She walks into the backyard of the house she grew up in and suddenly finds herself transported to somewhere else. She meets up with a denizon of this new world in the form of Jasper, who seems to know more than he lets on, and she is led deeper into this odd world by her new 'friend'. Most of my posts concerning this story line are her adventures with him, and I hope to eventually tighten all this up and slap it into novel form. The beginning portions are on my facebook for now, but i may one day repost them to here. Haven't decided yet.
Our heroine is a business woman who goes home to visit her parents. She walks into the backyard of the house she grew up in and suddenly finds herself transported to somewhere else. She meets up with a denizon of this new world in the form of Jasper, who seems to know more than he lets on, and she is led deeper into this odd world by her new 'friend'. Most of my posts concerning this story line are her adventures with him, and I hope to eventually tighten all this up and slap it into novel form. The beginning portions are on my facebook for now, but i may one day repost them to here. Haven't decided yet.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Vague continuation... fragmented.
The branches tore at her clothes as she pressed fast through the forest, whipped like lashes into her already bruised flesh. She was like a wild thing with the wind, ignored the burning ache building in her calves, her thighs, her lungs. Her heart hammered in time with her steps as she through caution to the wind and plummeted headlong into the night. She could still hear them, somewhere in the distance, a roar of rage that echoed off the tall trees, making her legs pump faster, making her ignore the screaming pain of her body.
She didn't feel the root that tripped her, but she felt the pain of colliding with the leaf covered forest floor. She barely had time to swing her arms up to protect her face. The force of her fall had her sliding through the leafy debris until she collided with the thick trunk of a branching evergreen. Gritting her teeth on a sharp moan she forced herself to lay still, take in deep breaths. Whats the use of having escaped, if you pass out here?
Past the thrumming of her blood in her ears she suddenly realized that escape might have been exactly what she accomplished, for she couldn't hear the roar of the crowd any longer. In fact, the only sounds she could hear outside of her pounding heart was her own gasping, and the faint hum of insects in the night.
With the halt of progress she became painfully aware of her battered and abused body. The lash strokes down her torn tunic, biting into her shoulders and back. The bruises along her arms and legs from rushing through the forest, and her knees and elbows, which were heavily abraded from her fall. She sniveled, once, and quickly buried her face in her hands, wiping away at mucus and sweat that coated her. Oh, god, Jasper. He had to be dead.
He had warned her about speaking up in town, about the odd ways that the people of Thilay viewed women, especially women with red hair of any shade. They were demons, meant to be used only for the amusement of men, and the scorn of 'true' womenfolk. The fact that she was clearly an oustider, a foreigner, was not to be forgiven. He had forbade her from venturing out of their room at the small inn without him, and even then she was to remain covered up.
Her curiousity, so long contained and forced down to succeed in the 'real world', had gotten the better of her. She had watched a parade of children ramble by her window, laughing and playing at old world wooden instruments. They had drawn her out of her safe room, the room that Jasper had left her in while he made 'arrangements' to purchase horses to travel to the next country. It wasn't safe for them in Thilan, he had told her. She less than he... but even he had seemed to have difficulty in even renting a room. Something about his caste had been whispered among the officals that had greeted them upon entering the district.
"We'll allow it," she recalled the man, styled as Mayor, had said. "Only to honor the old pact, you see. And you stick to your room, oft times, and don't be practicing your queer thoughts and imaginings on decent folk."
"Indeed," Jasper had replied, bending nearly double in a bow towards the Mayor. "No queerness or imaginings shall be done, while in your lands. We only wish to move through them."
"See that you do," the man had grumbled, and motioned them to follow his group deeper into the district.
Now she wished that they had braved the wilds to make their way around Thilan, and to hell with what Jasper had warned her of.
Now he was dead and gone because she couldn't listen to him, couldn't do what he said and trust in his knowledge.
How could she have known that children, innocent in laughter and joy, would have been her undoing?
She had left her rooms to speak with them, to hear better their charming wooden flutes and pipes. The girls had curtsied shyly and she had kneeled down to smile at one. The child had looked so much like her sister when they were small. When they would go on adventures together, fearless and full of fun. The wind came up then, and snagged at the back of her hood, tossing it back and lending to the air the site of her red curls. She thought she'd been quick enough to snatch the cloth back into place, until she glanced back into the eyes of the child before her. They were wide and full of terror. The little mouth was stretched into a wide O before the wail breathed past lips thin and white with fear.
It was a child who clubbed her over the head, hard, with an improvised weapon. A lute, that twanged discordantly as it's strings broke. The pain had been dull, barely stunning. The men's fists had been otherwise.
She had been beaten, hard, about the back and hips. Her face had been oddly left free of blemish and bruise, perhaps so she would remain conscious long enough to know what would be done with her. Eventually she was strung up between two poles in the square of town, the coarse rope biting into her wrists hard enough to make her cry out.
The flick hiss of the whip had filled her mind for what seemed an eternity, the cruel sound rivaled only by the roar of cheers echoing back from the assembled townsmen.
She didn't feel the root that tripped her, but she felt the pain of colliding with the leaf covered forest floor. She barely had time to swing her arms up to protect her face. The force of her fall had her sliding through the leafy debris until she collided with the thick trunk of a branching evergreen. Gritting her teeth on a sharp moan she forced herself to lay still, take in deep breaths. Whats the use of having escaped, if you pass out here?
Past the thrumming of her blood in her ears she suddenly realized that escape might have been exactly what she accomplished, for she couldn't hear the roar of the crowd any longer. In fact, the only sounds she could hear outside of her pounding heart was her own gasping, and the faint hum of insects in the night.
With the halt of progress she became painfully aware of her battered and abused body. The lash strokes down her torn tunic, biting into her shoulders and back. The bruises along her arms and legs from rushing through the forest, and her knees and elbows, which were heavily abraded from her fall. She sniveled, once, and quickly buried her face in her hands, wiping away at mucus and sweat that coated her. Oh, god, Jasper. He had to be dead.
He had warned her about speaking up in town, about the odd ways that the people of Thilay viewed women, especially women with red hair of any shade. They were demons, meant to be used only for the amusement of men, and the scorn of 'true' womenfolk. The fact that she was clearly an oustider, a foreigner, was not to be forgiven. He had forbade her from venturing out of their room at the small inn without him, and even then she was to remain covered up.
Her curiousity, so long contained and forced down to succeed in the 'real world', had gotten the better of her. She had watched a parade of children ramble by her window, laughing and playing at old world wooden instruments. They had drawn her out of her safe room, the room that Jasper had left her in while he made 'arrangements' to purchase horses to travel to the next country. It wasn't safe for them in Thilan, he had told her. She less than he... but even he had seemed to have difficulty in even renting a room. Something about his caste had been whispered among the officals that had greeted them upon entering the district.
"We'll allow it," she recalled the man, styled as Mayor, had said. "Only to honor the old pact, you see. And you stick to your room, oft times, and don't be practicing your queer thoughts and imaginings on decent folk."
"Indeed," Jasper had replied, bending nearly double in a bow towards the Mayor. "No queerness or imaginings shall be done, while in your lands. We only wish to move through them."
"See that you do," the man had grumbled, and motioned them to follow his group deeper into the district.
Now she wished that they had braved the wilds to make their way around Thilan, and to hell with what Jasper had warned her of.
Now he was dead and gone because she couldn't listen to him, couldn't do what he said and trust in his knowledge.
How could she have known that children, innocent in laughter and joy, would have been her undoing?
She had left her rooms to speak with them, to hear better their charming wooden flutes and pipes. The girls had curtsied shyly and she had kneeled down to smile at one. The child had looked so much like her sister when they were small. When they would go on adventures together, fearless and full of fun. The wind came up then, and snagged at the back of her hood, tossing it back and lending to the air the site of her red curls. She thought she'd been quick enough to snatch the cloth back into place, until she glanced back into the eyes of the child before her. They were wide and full of terror. The little mouth was stretched into a wide O before the wail breathed past lips thin and white with fear.
It was a child who clubbed her over the head, hard, with an improvised weapon. A lute, that twanged discordantly as it's strings broke. The pain had been dull, barely stunning. The men's fists had been otherwise.
She had been beaten, hard, about the back and hips. Her face had been oddly left free of blemish and bruise, perhaps so she would remain conscious long enough to know what would be done with her. Eventually she was strung up between two poles in the square of town, the coarse rope biting into her wrists hard enough to make her cry out.
The flick hiss of the whip had filled her mind for what seemed an eternity, the cruel sound rivaled only by the roar of cheers echoing back from the assembled townsmen.
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