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Post by Koolchat on Nov 7, 2008 17:24:57 GMT -5
Harhar, I'm writing a story, 'Verdammt' and I'm gonna put it up for review~ Not typed up yet, but I'll let you know when I have some of it done!! ^__^IS TYPED BUT NOT DONE
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Post by Koolchat on Nov 9, 2008 14:48:24 GMT -5
Part One:
‘Verdammt'
Thump Thump She ran out of instinct. Thump Th-thump No human mind whatsoever. Rustle shh-shh Hunger controlled her. …sh-sh-sh... And she lived, Eeeee! to survive.
Willow raised the now limp rabbit to her weatherworn face. Warmth. She cradled it like a doll, cooing out sound not to be uttered by a sane human. Love. She was a tattered being, more pathetic than the skinny lump in her hands, clothed only by a decaying t-shirt (which was much too grubby to tell which color it was originally intended to be) and ripped jeans streaked with blood and dirt. Stroking the dirty fur, a parental smile touched her cracked lips. Family. Once again, she raised the bunny to face level and pecked it on the nose. Streams of disturbing laughter escaped her lips as whiskers tickled hollowed in cheeks. Hunger…
Her eyes changed, a sudden need for food grabbing her greedily, a lust built purely of primal need. Wants. The girl had not use for wants. Wants were obsolete, useless, a human ‘thing’ that was a luxury she simply could never have. Shaking off fragmented memories from better days, she cradled her prize close and loped out of the forest, unaware of the trees grabbing for her. After useless battles, and a few minutes, they began to bend to make way for Willow’s leathery hide, while thinning out to reveal the desolate sight on the horizon. To any other eye, the sight was enough to stop the beating of one’s heart, if only for a second. An ashen haze dangled over what once must have been a bustling city, held aloft by the invisible strings of a cruel entity. Barely visible skeletons of once grand building hunched pitifully over skeletal trees, seeing to be sickened by the dirty atmosphere of the city. No roofs remained on any of the structures in sight, and a heavy scent of ash tinged the air, making it impossible for an outsider’s lungs to function properly. The girl paid no heed, however—she carried on, still holding the hare close to her chest, as if to merge it into her heart. However, the distressing prickle of fear still made her wary: no matter how many times the girl entered her ‘home’, (if that was what you would call it) she still felt the dread and horror of the war, long over as it was.
Pushing back her instinctual need for the safety of the forest, she pressed on, yellowed eyes tearing up from the polluted air. Total silence caressed the air, and Willow dared not disturb it. When she dared a last glance towards the woods, her gaze stuck on a lonesome raven in a tree. Had her mind been untainted by isolation, she would have noticed the intelligent gleam in its beady eyes, and the healthy luster of its wings. Suspicion should have gripped her then and there, but the primal lifestyle that she had adopted only saw it as a threat to her food. Scavengers. Scavengers stole her food. Baring her teeth in a rater unsettling way, the teenager turned and picked up her pace. As she neared her destination, the familiar crackle of a fire broke the silence. Her heartbeat quickened by the ominous presence of the city, Willow began to salivate as the smoky scent overpowered the ash. As soon as the glow of dancing flames came into view, the orphan ran towards the fire, clutching the rabbit closer than ever. The girl’s lips parted in a yellow-toothed smile as, at last, the heat of her crude fire warmed her cheeks. The trench itself must have once been a bonfire pit, used for celebrating the occasional birthday or seasonal party. Now, the flames held no use for happiness, merely survival. Twigs snapped angrily as the joyful memories were snuffed out by newer, younger flames. As she stared at the inferno, Willow’s smile (if one would call the odd twist of her mouth a ‘smile’) disappeared, and the savage look in her eyes was replaced by a newer, ‘human’ look. Food.
No longer entranced by the blaze, she dropped the rabbit and fumbled through an unusually large pile of rubble, eyes darting about as she groped blindly, aided only by the dim flickering of her makeshift fire. The curl of her mouth returned as her hand brushed against something smooth. Running her fingers over it, she came upon no cracks or bumps. With a sigh, Willow pulled the object from ashen remains, revealing to the Raven (whom of which was still watching her, and had found himself a nice little perch on a remaining tree) a knife. Its handle glittered a clean, uncorrupted white, and iridescent rainbows shimmered, the only disruption upon the purity. To the trained eye, it was clearly mother-of-pearl or opal; to the girl, it was merely a tool, with no value to it besides her survival.
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Post by Koolchat on Dec 1, 2008 19:21:05 GMT -5
With the knife now firmly in her grasp, she turned back to the fire and proceeded to skin the rabbit in a crude fashion. Up… Down… Up… Down. She slicked off the fur awkwardly, her hands shaking from her hunger. Within a few minutes she was in a slicing frenzy, eager to get her food up and cooked. It did not take long, as the rabbit was a skinny, starving being much like herself. Soon it was it upon a roughly made spit, twirling slowly over the scorching flames. She stroked the detached fur that sat next to her, and let her muscles take over the mindless act of twirling the spit. Her eyes glaze over as she stared at the fire, mesmerized by its (or possibly her own) memories. Food. A sudden gust of wind sped through the city, howling sadly, and snapped Willow back to her bleak reality. The rabbit was slightly charred, as she had been out for a while, but she did not care. Food was food, after all. The firs sizzled as bits of burnt fat globbed off of her meal. Overwhelmed by the delicious scent of the rabbit, she reached to grab the leg, only to be smacked away by the harsh fire. Spitting angrily, she remembered that water would soothe her licked fingers as well as the crackling blaze. With a low hiss that grew into a growl, she tucked her hand under her arm and scampered off into the darkness of the city. As the glow disappeared, she began to sprint, her throbbing hand adding the instinctual fear of darkness. Her path was straight, but no remaining structure was in sight save for a public restroom, of which the roof of was cracked beyond repair. Greasy black hair clumped to her forehead as a nervous sweat began to dot her face. Th-thump. She was wounded; easy prey. Fear One. In the deadened darkness, she was blind; helpless. Fear Two. She knew of diseases, of infection; of no way to stop them. Fear Three. Fear of fear itself, of its paralyzing effects; its overwhelming call. Phobophobia. With a shriek, the feral girl threw herself into the women’s bathroom, her pale limbs flailing as she stuck the floor. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she writhed about on the floor, her hands fumbling desperately for some object lost to darkness. Her eyes brown and tinged with insanity, widened, searching for any scrap of light to suck in and help her find this unseen object. She began to crawl on the floor, desperate whine rising up from her parched throat. Her charred hand throbbed as she slid it over the chipped tiles, and with a loud HIC, she began to cry. Fat, glistening tears rolled down her face, making streaks in the mud that was caked onto her skin. The darkness was pressing onto her mind, forceful as a caged tiger, and she groped around desperately, as if the object she was searching for was the only thing that could keep her alive. Little hiccups accompanied her sobs as she curled up in the nearest corner, the outlines of broken toilets mixing with the demons of the night.
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Post by Koolchat on Dec 1, 2008 19:21:24 GMT -5
As she backed herself into the corner, the small of her back was jabbed by what felt like a small box. Click. With a ragged gasp, she turned and scrambled to grab it, the tears immediately becoming dammed by unseen gates. A rough texture bumped her fingers as she pushed out the middle of the hidden box. Matches! They were matches. Greedily, she scooped out a bit of the insides of her prize and struck its wooden sticks upon the rough side. Three flames popped up, new lives in the desolate darkness. Giggling, one last tear forced itself from her eye, and she threw the matches into a pile of yellowed newspapers. With a quick sigh from them, they dissolved into fire, revealing a bit more of the _________ room. The darkness no longer a foe, Willow’s heart slowed and she raised her hand from the cool tiles. Heat flooded back, and she winced, but no sounds escaped her cracked mouth. Her gaze swept across the revolting ‘room’. Porcelain toilets, once free of grime (though not necessarily clean) were now chipped and covered in blankets of mold and fungus; the insides of the bowls were taken over by mushroom armies. Graffiti covered all the walls, interrupted only by the occasional dark stain or chipping paint. Her eyes, however, lingered on the sinks – surprisingly, they still stood, though time had cracked them with hard blows. Inside the one with the least mold sat a rusty, dented bucket. However, she reached not for the bucket, but for the life-supporting substance inside; water. Simple water. For one blessed to live in an actual house, it was a plain, everyday thing. But to this pitiful girl, it was the only thing that mattered, save for her food and fire. It was her friend; when she was lonely, a funny girl with sunk-in cheeks and grimy hair (much like her own!) stared back and followed her every movement. Willow had not heard this girl speak as of yet, though she liked to smile and wave when Willow greeted her. This friend was more than company, however. She helped with thirst; when Willow’s mouth was filled with cotton and the taste of soot, this girl held out her hands at the same time Willow did and gave her a handful of water (although it was so murky and muddy a mutt would have turned up his nose at it). She was grateful for her ‘friend’, though she disappeared after putting out the fir. It seemed that she, too, shared Willow’s primal fears of darkness.
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Post by Koolchat on Dec 1, 2008 19:21:40 GMT -5
With a sigh, Willow doused her throbbing hand in the cool water, ignoring the burn that accompanied the relief. The nameless girl appeared yet again, her face twisted from a pain unknown to Willow. Cocking her head, she reached out to the girl, not wanting to see her hurting. The girl reached back, her eyes confused as well. Both girls’ mouths’ opened, as if to say something, but nothing came out of them; both stood, staring, reaching, and in pain. Willow’s face fell as words did not come to her; her lips gaped, giving her the appearance of a dying fish. Only air and the stench of mold traveled into her open mouth. The pain subsided, and she felt her mouth close. With the relief, however, came a forgetfulness – her stomach no longer growled with the intense hunger she had experienced not so long ago, and her mind was stimulated by the girls sudden appearance. Her whole body itched, eager to get out of this ‘house’ and do something – anything. With a silent glee, she remembered her new favorite hangout, the library. It was a burnt, secluded place on the outside (much like the rest of the city), but deep within the remains his infinite angels; books. Remembering these treasures, her mind clicked and, quick as a weasel, she was off.
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“My goodness!” A new, bright voice dared to pierce the silence of the city. A man stood before a hulking, twisted beast of a building, simply staring at the walls, which were barely clinging to a rusted skeleton. He contrasted harshly with the background; a fairy in a B-Grade horror flick. White, sterile clothes were miraculously only slightly dotted by soot and ash. After a particularly violent sneeze disturbed his awe, he pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked. The dust attacked his eyes with a relentless ferocity – he imagined that it was not fond of guests. This thought raised a chuckle, quickly followed by another sneeze. He raised a clean, silken handkerchief to his nose and dabbed it like a proper gent. ‘Oh dear.’ He thought, now covering his nose with the cloth to protect it. ‘I suppose I had better keep my mouth shut in this place.’ He sneezed again. ‘Anyway, speech of any manner is not befitting of this place.’ Once again he gazed upon the decaying building, the feeling of awe grabbing him yet again. As he registered the sight, wide, green eyes rounded to saucer-size, and did not so much as blink, even when long strands of blonde hair threatened to blind him. Soon, however, yet another sneeze threatened to hit, and he was snapped back to his senses. The building was not beautiful, nor was it a work of art. However, it did have an odd appeal to it… ‘Ravishing.’ Was the only word he could think of. Yes; this broken maiden, her spine rusted and poking through flaking skin, was ravishing in her own sense. He smiled, not for her beauty, but for what she may have held…. Visions of fame and money dancing through his head, he hoisted the bag on his back and stepped into the building with a newfound confidence.
X__________________________________________X
Crunch. Crackle! While digging through a pile of barely alive books, the noises of an intruder sliced unexpectedly through the quiet. She stiffened, all senses whirring, her vision swirling with pictures of bears, wolves, or worse… Stifling a cry, Willow began to creep behind a shelf, begging her enemy, Darkness, to cover her from all eyes. Rustle! Her eyes widened – a book, teetering on a shelf high above, was caught by the wind. Her lips curled back into a snarl, and her heart quickened. This traitorous book would give her away! With a shake of her head and a last ragged breath, she stepped deeper into Darkness and held her breath.
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Rustle! The man stopped in his tracks, startled by the first noise (other than his voice, that is) to shred the silence. ‘Life!’ The word bounced around in his head, held in by the handkerchief covering the exits of his mouth and nose. He did not stop to think that other things, besides humans, could have lived in such a place. The vision of a survivor, starving and ready to spill their story to the media, danced in front of his eyes, covering up the other possibilities of the noise’s cause. “Hello?” he called, his airy voice turned shrill from the dust. The hanky was dotted by ash, its pompous white degraded by smudges of black.
X__________________________________________X
“Hello?” The voice echoed. She gasped, the trapped air rushing out of her lungs in one involuntary, traitorous act.
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