The Acropolis

Challenge 31 - Not that girl

2005-01-14T23:00:27Z

Challenge 31 - Not that Girl
Fandom - my own sordid life
Word count - 100! w00t!

Not that girl
Not this place
Not that voice
Not his face

Please be wrong
Hunch go away
Introduce me
Please don't say

Not that name
So-sweet eyes
Can she see
All my lies?

Does she know?
Shrewd witch
I used to want
To meet this bitch

I can fake it
Shmooze with ease
Mentally
I'm on my knees

Oh, I'm delighted
Can't you tell?
My thoughts will see me
Burn in hell

He's growing pink
I'd better go
"Let's talk," I say
I OWN this show

Not a ring
Not a vow
Not that girl
Please, not now

Drabble challenge 31

2005-01-11T16:12:17Z

Name: Not the Usual Kind of Girl
Characters: A random Scot I made up for this purpose. And something scary.
Words: 625. Er, this turned out longer than a drabble, if you go by the 100-word definition. Sorry ^^;;
Rating: G
Challenge: Challenge 31
Notes: For explanation, click on the provided link after the drabbly thing.

Liza wasn't the type of girl fairy stories get written about. She was sensible, short, well-muscled from being the only child on a two hundred-acre sheep farm, and there was nothing about her that could be described as willowy or fey. Her hair was somewhere between brown and black - not dark enough to be a raven beauty, she often thought - and with just enough half-hearted curl to be unmanageable. She usually pinned it up, but her pins were always made from wood, not shell. Her father, proud of his shepherd heritage and unwilling to give it up no matter how bad a businessman he actually was, had to pay a dozen men to help him with the sheep. Liza was coming home from taking wages to one of the men right now; he had fallen sick a few days before and his family needed the money.

She was late getting back. It was a moonlit night, for which she was thankful, because the moors on one side of her and the dark muddle of forest on the other gave her no comfort. It had been a rainy season and the road was muddy. She sloshed through it without much thought - this was one of her older skirts, after all, and a shepherd's daughter doesn't put much stock in pristine shoes - holding the folds of her skirt in both fists so she didn't get bogged down. She muttered to herself as she went, daring any highwaymen to just try her in her current mood.

She blinked as she saw a shape detach from the blackness of the woods at her right, and slowed her pace. Superstition involving a thought conjuring the real thing edged into her mind, but she pushed it back. It was a man, but when she got closer - he stood still by the edge of the road - she could see that he was well dressed, apparently unarmed. He had what one might describe as classic masculine beauty: a strong chin, a narrow nose, high cheekbones. His complexion was swart, and his black hair fell in waves over his shoulders. Liza started to edge toward the other side of the road, sparing him a glance.

"Please, my lady," he said the moment he caught her eye. "I'm afraid I've lost my way. Is there any possibility you could direct me to the nearest town?"

Liza stopped, watching warily as he stepped closer. He seemed very cautious, though. Considerate. "I'm sorry to tell you, but the nearest town is about twelve miles back that way," she said, gesturing over her shoulder. "I doubt you'll get there by dawn, sir." There was something about his eyes. They seemed pale in color, and yet she couldn't see any light from the moon reflected in them. After a moment, she realized he had moved closer, and she couldn't pull her own gaze away from his eyes.

"Then, may I have the honor of accompanying you to wherever you may be going?" He offered his arm.

Liza wanted to look at his arm, but her eyes wouldn't move. She felt as if all of her actions were very far away. She felt her own hand slip beneath his elbow.

The man stepped off the side of the road, and the crisp grass rustled around Liza's skirts. Close to him, she could smell something like the scent of undergrowth, of wet leaves, coming from him. He turned his head toward the skyline. There were weeds in his hair, clinging wetly to the strands, curling out as if growing from his scalp. Beneath the fabric of his coat, his arm was cold.

"I think this is the perfect night for a moonlit swim, don't you?"

Each uisge/Aughisky

Story Seed 18

2005-01-11T13:24:01Z

"There are times when you just know this can't be happening... but then you look close and it is happening anyway."

"What do you do then?"

~*~

You are seeded!

Challenge 31

2005-01-11T13:22:40Z

Drabble Challenge

Not that girl

Good luck!

Drabble #30 Challenge

2004-12-06T15:06:54Z

No pairing, no fandom. No nothing.

Loathing. That skin-crawling nauseated bile in the pit of your gut every time you think of the love you gave, the dedication, the hours, the affection, the huge chunks of self that you ripped from your being and laid at his feet. No matter that he treated each one with an awe-filled wonder at your beauty, your depth, the intensity of your love for him. No matter that he looked into your soul, examining the crystalline refractions of your spirit, and proclaimed what he found there good, and worthy of his love. No matter that you could feel the air around you hum with his intensity, his power, his delicious life-force that filled you until you were humming as well, vibrating in perfect pitch with the world surrounding you until you were certain that he was your God incarnate for who else could ever make you feel so complete, who else could expose the mysteries of life to your perusing eye in that way? No matter. For its gone, and the self-loathing you feel for having driven him away will eat up every good and perfect thing he ever found within you. That's what loathing does. No matter whom you try to direct it toward, it always comes back to you.

drabble time!

2004-12-06T14:36:05Z

Hey, all! It's been awhile. First, I was working on nano and now, I should be working on papers/final exams but I decided- hey, one drabble won't hurt!

I hope you enjoy.

Name: “Loathing”
Fandom: Dune (specifically Children of Dune)
Characters: Alia
Challenge: Drabble # 30
Words: 299

She did not loathe him. Her nephew, who would not help her. Her nephew who sequestered his burgeoning power with cynical philosophy before he disappeared into the night and an assassin’s trap.

She did not loathe her. Her niece, who began to take form once her brother was gone. Her niece who was now heir apparent to the throne… it would be better just to marry her off. Quiet old enemies…solidify the people under Atreides power.

She did not loathe Irulan. That spineless ninny, that useless pawn (as now her niece would be, as she would not open herself to the voices.) She was easy enough to brush off as Paul’s bitter old widow, desperate to wheedle her way into their lives, though it was apparent that none loved her.

She did not loathe Chani. For taking her beloved brother away.

She did not loathe Paul. For leaving so many times… in lust with Chani, in politics with rulership, into the desert with death. He was the only one she could latch onto, the only one staunch enough, the only one strong enough, the only one to build an empire out of a fremen rebellion.

She did not even loathe her mother (not really.) For abandoning her… first in the womb, opening her mind to voices she could not understand… then with the insurrection, leaving both children for Caladan once Paul was settled on his throne. She knew her mother was weak…loving at the wrong times, indifferent to the wrong people.

She loathed the Baron. For taking her father away, for banishing her brother to the desert, for exploiting their resources—even what he did to her mother. She felt no remorse in taking his life, just a cool satisfaction. But it was he, the one she loathed, who would possess her. It was he, who would, without her knowledge, lead her to the wolves in a mad quest for power, which not existed. It was he who would quiet the voices, spur up her lust, whisper words of comfort and power, dare her to take the life of her mother, deny her brother, and crush her returned-nephew into the ground.

And it was he, unwittingly, who would lead her to her death. Because once all that loathing is spewed, there is really nothing more your mind can take.

Drabble Challenge 30

2004-12-03T23:36:04Z

Drabble Challenge

Loathing

Good luck drabblers.

Story Seed 17

2004-12-03T23:32:57Z

"Are you sure about this? You can't change your mind once you've decided. There's no going back."

"I'm sure. I just want to get it over with."

~*~

Here's another seedling for you.

Drabble Challenge #29

2004-11-21T02:07:10Z

Poetry

There was poetry
In
The sway of her hip
The curve of her lip
The gleam of her eye
The cream of her thigh
His own poetry lay
In
The scent of his neck
The taste of his chest
The throb of his cock
Was what she liked best.

Newbie saying hi ^^;;

2004-11-19T15:27:19Z

Title: Brethren
Challenge: Drabble 17
Rating: PG
Original Characters
Words: 172 (I am wordy ^^;;)

War had ravaged the countryside. Eons of nature's tender loving care had been ripped to shreds under the boots of hundreds, thousands, of soldiers marching, setting up camp, defending their spots from hordes of Orcs.

Zi sighed softly as sad emerald eyes moved over the landscape, the hillside was mostly muddy pivots, trampled grass peaking out here and there. This was the place he had played as a kid, rolling down the hills in the soft grass, chasing his friends...even picking flowers for pretty little elvan girls. It was a shame. A voice broke him from his revery and he turned to look at his second in command.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir...but the Orcs have set up several camps just bordering us. They've fallen back for now...should we as well?"

"Hell no," Zi snapped as he crossed his arms over his chest. "There's a reason they've fallen back, we seriously hurt their numbers today...if we give them a chance to recover it will be death for us! Engage the enemy, damn it!"

Story Seed 16

2004-11-18T21:13:27Z

Shaken, not stirred, interpret and write as you like.

~*~

Seed 16

"I've waited so long for a someone like you... and now it's all been for nothing. I've let you slip through my fingers."

"You will always lose the ones dear to you because..."

Drabble Challenge 29

2004-11-18T21:11:34Z

Drabble Challenge for all you lovelies.

Mad, Bad, and Dangerous to Know

or

Poetry

for seed 15

2004-11-14T22:42:52Z

Title: Saying Goodbye
Challenge: Story Seed 15
Rating: G, I guess
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Post The Final Problem)
Words: 130 give or take

I know this room; I've walked this floor.

I've walked this floor in worry and dread; fretting--up and down, across and back--about his non-return, his health, his state of mind . . . I've sat in the chair across from his, watching him in the depression that always comes . . . always came hard on the heals of success, wanting to out-pace my impotence to help.

He's walked this floor, too, of course, when impatient for news or in frustration or excitement, keen and eager for the chase -- the 'game afoot'. That was all before. Before he--

Now, he is dead. These aren't his rooms any more. This isn't his floor. That isn't his chair. It's just an empty shell.

I don't know these rooms; I've never walked this floor.

Luv 2 Drabble

2004-11-10T02:58:16Z

Title: Mad, Bad, And Dangerous To Know
Challenge: Drabble 28
Rating: NC-17, probably
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 109

Faint strains of the Choir drift down. She grows wet in anticipation. The words echo inside her - "Something wicked this way comes!" "The wrong sort of boy", "Nothing but trouble", "ARE YOU MAD?!?" She shivers, dangling in damp darkness, toes grazing flagstones. Nipples heavy with blood, Kegels tightening, competing for the flush of liquid fire. A heavy thud as a door slams, a scrape of boot across the floor. A hiss of approval as aristocratic fingers pinch the red bud on her breast. Her moan of arousal is abbreviated as a sinuous voice cuts through the lust.

"Fifty House points for excellence in your choice of plaything, Mr. Malfoy."

omg i am s0000 on cr4ck!!!!!11111!!11!

2004-11-10T02:46:53Z

Name: Wicked
Fandom: none
Genre: Surrealism, Automatic Writing
Characters: um.... >_>
Challenge: Here's for this one.
Words: 236

Wicked

That's what they call the people who wear pink and wait by the river at night. Waiting on the sandy bank of the sandy river underneath the wicked, sandy stars. They wait in pink starbursts of nebulas reflected in the swirling water in front of their pink lit faces. I'll be waiting, they chant in wicked phrases at the wicked star reflections. We'll be here because we're waiting for daybreak. Silly people who wear pink and wait by the river at night. Wicked starlight never yeilds to the dawn. The reflections of the pink night sky in the swirling river water of the wicked starlight slides towards the sandy sand banks and outlines the blackness with energy of smiling faces in half-pink half inshadow. Waiting, crying, the people in pink collect shining starlight from shining reflections from the watery water of the sandy river. Gathering their gatherings, they notice the pink edge of the pink horizon slowly fade to a sandy color other than pink. The people who wear pink and wait by the river at night look towards the wicked sandy sky and see the dawn draw near and kill the starlight in the watery reflections and snuff the pink by the sandy bank of the sandy river that used to lie underneath the wicked sandy stars. The wicked, says the dawn, shall set you free. With that, all pink fell out of existence.

Story Seed 15

2004-11-10T01:29:54Z

Story Seed 15

Taken from Rufus Wainright's song "Hallelujiah".

"I know this room, I've walked this floor"

Enjoy!

Drabble Challenge 28

2004-11-10T01:28:00Z

Sorry for the lapse in posting these!

I'll try to be more on the ball about them for you! I'm just so glad that you're interested.

This week's drabble challenge is:

Wicked

Have at it!

I'm kinda confused

2004-11-10T00:21:54Z

I thought this community was going to have challenges posted every week or so. Am I missing something? I'd love to try some drabbles, but am not clear on where they are posted at.

Desire

2004-11-08T14:19:28Z

What follows is the product of a moment of inspiration.

Name: “Desire”
Fandom: none
Characters: OC

Words: 99

Desire. There was no other way to describe her, she was desire personified, powerful and frightening, gut wrenching and desperate, burning in my veins, imprinted in my mind, occupying every waking moment, haunting my dreams. A succubus would envy the way she was filling up my every thought, like water filling up the lungs of a drowning man, suffocating me slowly, killing everything that used to define me, leaving in their stead only my desire for her, burning bright in the void that had taken residence in the place where my soul should be. Desire. She was plain Desire.

Greetings

2004-10-31T19:08:10Z

Greetings. I am nemecic, I am new here (obviously *grins*) and I come bearing </span>

the gift of drabble. I did the chalenges No 12 and 13 as companion

pieces and, without further ado, I present to you:

Name: “Broken”
Fandom: none
Characters: OC
Challenge: Drabble 12

Words: 179

The shattered glass makes a light chiming sound when it crumbles into a heap, deceptively beautiful and melodic, in the way that only a disaster can be, tragic.

The shattered glass makes a beautiful chiming sound when it crumbles into a heap and that was the sound that her heart made when he told her he was thinking of leaving her. Leaving her not because he found someone else, someone better or more beautiful, leaving her not because he couldn't stand her or found her repulsive, oh no, but because he was bored with her. The ultimate negation, being not interesting enough, not good enough, not captivating enough, not annoying enough or hated enough, having competed with and lost from her own self.

Her eyes brimmed with tears, hurtful tears, like pieces of a shattered glass cutting in her eyes and as beautiful as that, and started slowly running down her face, the traces left behind mapping the road towards the shattered heap of her soul, the only thing left behind. Would that be enough for him to stay?

...and...

Name: “Fixed”
Fandom: none
Characters: OC
Challenge: Drabble 13
Words: 153

I didn’t wanna hurt you but you are pretty when you cry. Your tears are like shattered glass, all jugged edges, cutting deep and leaving welts and ugly scars, so prettily red and angry on your virginal white soul. Like all those criss-cross marks on your back, those scraps on your knees and these bruises all over you, my beautiful little canvas… The colours take a whole new meaning on you, did you know that? Each one a different day, story, meaning, feeling and each one done for the same thing – and yet you managed to resist. How did you do that? But it doesn’t matter now, does it? Because I finally broke you and made you a million pieces and I will make you a million more before I mould you and reshape you…And then you will be reborn like a phoenix rising out of your ashes, truly beautiful and forever mine...

And please feel free to come and have a look at my corner of the DJ.

taking a break...

2004-10-15T00:48:23Z

...I need to be working on a modernist poetry paper right now, but what the hey- a drabble is a nice way to get into the writing mode... even though this is more like an idea than one...

Oh well; it was fun!

Name: “The Mystery of Pompeii”
Fandom: none
Characters: none
Challenge: Drabble 21
Words: 201

Vesuvius. It even sounds like the name of some angry Roman god—vicious and unforgiving. A son of Mars, who does him proud.

No one should tempt him in his rage, spewing black hatred down onto the world, the greatest military weapon of the age, still belonging to nature.

People today piece together sparse accounts and scientific philandering; what did those people feel? When opaque clouds of dust slammed onto their petty civilization, constantly assaulting, again and again, until they were all escaped or dead, and ash started to rise from the ground.

They say that the grimy dust crept from place to place, like a messenger bringing news of Pompeii’s destruction. What other course could it possibly be to their kinsmen, other than that the gods in their disdain decreed suffocating ash to rain from the skies?

Like the greatest time capsule to ever grace the Earth, the hardened residue covers Pompeii like adhesive. Houses crumbling, but still erect, political slogans on the walls, daily supplies from thousands of years ago, bodies, glued to the floor.

Perhaps, then, the mighty volcano was not a destroyer after all, but a preserver. Secrets only the matter between dust and ground can tell.

happy new month!

2004-10-02T03:06:16Z

Hopefully, this isn't too much of a promo... *blushes*

Name: “Creation”
Fandom: Farscape
Characters: none
Challenge: Drabble 4
Words: 166

To many people, it was just painted faces. Sitting in a chair for hours, covering peachy skin, as if that was enough to make you a different species. A different entity.

But to others, those grays and blues meant so much more than a makeup artist procuring a job. They would gasp when they saw the real actors, pictures on websites, smiling cheekily, as humans are ought to do, wearing jeans and t-shirts.

One might say it’s a mix between easy and difficult, painting their faces week after week. It’s mostly one color per character—sure, they need shadows, undertones, but no scintillating, human designs, like Michelangelo painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. But what an obtrusive palate, turning bumpy human flesh, three-dimensional and breathing, into something… new? That with different accents and different mannerisms and a set of learned lines, that indeed, humans could become aliens?

To some people, it was just a joke. To others, a galaxy brought to life.

a different fandom!... well... sorta...

2004-09-21T17:53:16Z

From my faaavorite play...

Name: “No Redemption”
Fandom: er… Shakespeare
Characters: Hamlet and Ophelia
Challenge: Story Seed 2
Words: 399

He wasn’t the type to accept the weight being lifted from his chest, even in death. He spent his life concocting damning plans in mutters and paces, and as the results left all parties dead, he felt sure they would continue their struggle in the afterlife.

She sat by the pool where she had fallen in, unseeing, unknowing, blinded by a grief carried with her. So that now, even secure in the death, which had taken her father (and her mother before him,) Ophelia could only see the water, the deep, choking water, which ensnared her livelihood, seemingly forever.

He walked up to her, because she was there and he knew her. Their last words to each other, about a false king who had, with his greed and conniving, forced his way through their love and trust, echoed in his ears. She turned, beckoned by his overflowing emotions, death the same as life.

“Where did we go wrong?” She asked him in the dull tone she’d adopted when the men of her life were slowly ripped from her.

He did not have to speak of the past, but she heard it anyway.

God/ has given you one face, and you make yourselves/ another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and/ nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness/ your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath/ made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages:/ those that are married already, all but one, shall/ live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a/ nunnery, go!

She answered for him. “Probably about the time you started…”

“Oh, do not bring that up again!” he interrupted brusquely, although she was not the one to play it over in her mind, to turn it over and over—all of it, from his father’s death to his mother’s remarriage, to all of the lies, deceit and death involved. And now, they were stuck in it, stuck distrusting each other for someone else’s mistakes, as angry orphans whose fathers were torn from them by the darkness of human nature.

“Well, you asked,” Ophelia said, although it was a complete lie. She stared back down at her reflection in the water and began to sing, “They bore him barefaced on the bier;/
Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny;/ And in his grave rain'd many a tear:--/ Fare you well, my dove!”

<3 to my RPG for giving me ideas :D

2004-09-06T21:46:32Z

Name: “Connection”
Fandom: Harry Potter, loosely based on the Seen & Unforeseen RPG, highly AU
Characters: Parvati and Padma Patil
Challenge: Ficlet 4
Words: 373

Parvati watched the loose rise and fall of her sister’s chest. The Healers had been in just a second ago, running diagnostic tests with their wands, murmuring in low voices, as if trying to block her out of the truth, as sharp and blunt as the curse, which had been cast. Padma Patil had been attacked by Death Easters unknown, and now lay in a comatose state, where it was uncertain whether or not she’d ever wake.

Parvati tried to regulate her breathing, tried to match the unconscious movements of her sister. They’d been twins from long before birth, and it was inconceivable to the conscious Patil girl that they could undergo anything so drastic separately. She found her mind reeling back towards olden memories—distinct in their lack of importance—Padma being sorted into Ravenclaw, she into Gryffindor; Padma losing herself to her Runes treatises, she to Professor Trelawney’s melodramatic predictions.

She wondered about oracles now, staring into Padma’s closed eyes, the one constant in her life ripped away from her. She and Padma were linked through the Fates and the stars; she’d always known this, and Professor Trelawney had supported it. But ultimately, the Forces of Nature had other ideas. Ultimately, the Death Eaters were more of a parasite than anything imaginable; threatening the balance between wizards and muggles, between prophecy and reality.

She knew her parents would be sending her back to Hogwarts soon, to the school which, after the end of her fifth year, had increasingly committed itself to picking up the pieces from the latest Dark attack. Her parents wanted her to study hard, to get ahead in the academic world, as if nothing had changed, and she smiled, wondering if she now carried a bit of Padma’s intellectual drive inside of her.

We are always connected, she thought fiercely, gripping at her sister’s cold hands. It is written in the stars and by the Fates. Part of Padma now resided in her. And… she realized slowly while backing away, part of her was now resigned to the comatose state, never to move or to feel or believe until Padma Patil opened her eyes and reached out her hands to Parvati once more.

Fifteen Minute Ficlet 4

2004-09-04T23:43:36Z

Characters: Merian (the one from the dialogues)
Challenge: Ficlet 4
Words: 463
Notes: Kind of teh suck, because I spent most of my fifteen minutes setting up ^^;; I may have salvaged the ending. Possibly not.

Challenge: Oracle

Merian pushed aside a curtain of glass beads and stepped into the room. The tree was massive by normal standards but for the Driiaen, it wasn't anything to stare at. It fit perhaps two rooms inside its hollowed trunk. This is a stupid idea, Merian thought, as he stood by the door and listened to the glass beads clink softly against one another. He wasn't sure whether his brother had been making fun of him, or if he'd actually been serious, when he said he thought Merian would have fun going to see this fortune-teller. Frankly, Merian didn't hold the prognostications of anyone besides the priests in any high regard, and with a gaudy, trinket-filled waiting room such as this, his opinion didn't improve much. He never mentioned any opinion about this sort of thing either way, so he couldn't imagine Saki had set this up to play a joke on him. Saki was prone to believing in all sorts of bizarre things, and a new thing every week, so this was probably just his current obsession.

"Come in, come in."

Merian jumped. He hadn't noticed anyone there, but a small woman (They were always women. Why were they always women?) had appeared behind him in the time between entering and now. She looked young, and her light hair was short and messy. She wore strings of beads all through it and around her head, looking as if they were meant to have some pattern but were being worn incorrectly. She took his sleeve and drew him to the back of the room, around a corner carved from the tree's innards. "Please, young man, have a seat."

Merian settled in the uncomfortable wicker chair in front of the table. There was a bowl of water in the middle of the tablecloth, and flowers were floating on the surface.

"Now then. What are you here to look for?"

Merian frowned slightly at her. "I'm not here to look for anything. I was recommended by a friend." It suddenly struck him as strange that she would call him "young man", as she seemed close to his age.

"You must want something. How else am I to help you?"

"Look, just... do whatever it is that you do and I'll pay you when you're done."

She smiled at him in a way he liked not at all, and nodded. "It is to be that, then."

When Merian let the beaded curtain fall behind him and stepped out into the snow, he could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. It wasn't so much anything that she had said, for that had all been fairly mundane answers that could apply to anyone... it was that, for the time he listened, he believed every word of it without question.