#artemis nihil

[nihilwrites]

PSA

thetasteofdeathuponmylips is now nihilwrites

I also changed my icon

I don’t think this will confuse too many people, since I only have 25 followers, but this is just to clarify.

[nihilwrites]

My first English assignment of the term

I hate "Who are you" prompts with a burning firey passion. I want to write about other, more interesting people. the assignment was to write a letter to anyone that shows who you are. this is what I came up with.

Dear Mr. Gaiman,

Here are a few points of interest, if they may interest you. If not, please ignore them.

1.       I often read my favorite books multiple times. If I enjoyed it, once is not enough. There are some books that I have read as many as twenty times. These are not small endeavors either: The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Harry Potter, Gone with the Wind, Atlas Shrugged.

2.       I am not a writer, but I write. I have dozens of mediocre poems scattered throughout my possessions. I have rarely returned to my old writing to work on it further. I have much of my rough work published online under my pen name, Artemis Nihil.

3.       Artemis Nihil is also know to dabble in art without any real passion.

4.       When I was a child my dad tried to teach my sister and me how to handle money. My sister was prone to trade a quarter for three of his shiny pennies. I insisted that he should give me a dollar for my quarter because he needed the quarter for the parking meter, but had no use for such a small bill.

5.       Artemis is my patron goddess, yet in middle school they called me godless. They were wrong. What my family had always abstained from was religion, not gods.

6.       When I was a young girl my sister and I, of course, played with toys. We had barbies and Barbie sized horses. I chose the barn manager and figured out a schedule to feed the horses.

7.       I never spent my allowance. By 4th grade I had enough to pay for more than half of a snake. My sister covered the rest of the snake, my mom bought the cage.

8.       My best friend, and next door neighbor, is Ellie. Every snow day was spent with her, until I went to boarding school. The snow weighed down the branches of our great old pine tree, Big Mama, until it formed a little fort, safe from the wind and snow.

9.       There was a great gender imbalance in our barbies. Three boys and a 10 or so girls. My sister decided the relationships. The barn manger always had a boyfriend or girlfriend. The female villain always had her male sidekick. And when I fixed up relationships, polyamory was almost always involved.

10.   I also tied string around the Barbie necks and hung them in the stairway, sometimes dropping them down all three floors.

11.   I have always liked to wear costumes. Everything I wore felt like a costume. From jeans, to my school uniform, to my pirate hat. In middle school I went through a cycle of hair accessories that repeated every few weeks. It was always a costume

12.   One day I put on a suit, and it didn’t feel like a costume. It felt like what I should have been wearing all along. It was then that I knew I was transgender, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

13.   Yet, I am still far from knowing who I am. These are all things that are a part of me, and that make up the man that I am today. But to know oneself is a ridiculous concept, and if you think you know who you are at seventeen, you are wrong. I am Xander. I am Nihil. I am the face in the mirror. But I am so much more, and so much less. And I am as likely to understand all of it as you are.

Best Regards,

Xander Nihil

[nihilwrites]

A Walk in Little Whinging: a fanfiction, taking place during the summer after Harry Potter's fourth year

I don't write fanfiction anymore, so this is kind of old, but I kind of liked it.

Harry was wandering the streets of Little Whinging for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he got home that summer. After anxiously waiting for two weeks for news about Voldemort, this is all he got. Harry had been getting letters from Ron, Hermione, and Sirius that didn't help him at all, The Prophet wasn't mentioning anything, and there wasn't even a hint of anything strange in the muggle news.

Glaring down at his sneakers, he walked forward, not paying attention to where he was going. Harry found himself at the park. He walked over to the gate and tried to open it. Finding it was locked; he simply jumped over it and ignored the idea that he probably shouldn't have done it. He then trudged over to the swings and dropped onto the seat. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn't even bother to look around him. All he was looking at were the bottom of his worn-out jeans and the dried up grass at his feet.

He thought morbidly to himself that this suited how he felt. Uncared for and ignored, used then promptly thrown away.

"You don't really look like a delinquent up close."

Harry gave a start at the sudden voice. His posture was suddenly alert and he unconsciously grabbed for his wand inside his baggy T-shirt. Then he looked closer at the person who had spoken. Sitting on the swing next to him was a girl, maybe 14 or 15, gazing at him in a politely curious way. He hurriedly pulled his hand out of his shirt and bluntly replied "who are you? What do you want?"

She smiled softly and answered, "I'm Diana. It's nice to meet you too. Actually I don't really want anything. You're the one who came and sat down next to me. I was just sitting here and quietly thinking until you arrived a moment ago." Her smile seemed kind but there was some amusement dancing around her eyes.

Harry pursed his lips and answered plainly, "oh." Then seeing her expectant face, he tacked on "Sorry." Harry quickly remembered what had first caught his attention and questioned "what do you mean by I don't look like a delinquent up close?"

Diana said "well you're Harry Potter, aren't you? You're the boy that lives with the Dursleys." Seeing Harry nod, she continued "I was told that you go to some school for young criminals. I was warned to stay away from you. But you seem alright to me, aside from the clothes and such. Your face doesn't look like it belongs to someone bad."

Harry looked at her curiously. There was something special about her that he couldn't quite place. It felt like she understood him, even though they knew nothing about each other. "Have you lived here for long? I don't remember ever having seen you before."

She laughed and jovially answered "I don't actually live here at all. I'm just here for a few days visiting some relatives. I'll be leaving again tomorrow."

Harry couldn't quite explain it, but he felt a certain disappointment at the news. They had only just met – and yet there was a feeling of friendship. It was the first time Harry had ever associated something happy with Little Whinging, and he was reluctant to let it go. Then, as if reading his thoughts, Diana seemed to smile knowingly at him, and her eyes softened. "I should probably go now. We'll be leaving early tomorrow, and I still haven't packed."

She stood up with a sad smile and walked away, disappearing as quickly as she had come. After a little while of staring thoughtfully at the ground, Harry got up as well and began to slowly trudge back to number 4, Privet drive. By the time he was finally back at the Dursley's house he was half convinced that he had imagined the whole thing. Without realizing why he did it, Harry kept wandering back there. He knew that she couldn't possibly be there, but if he just sat and closed his eyes, he could imagine, for a brief moment, that he had a friend.

[nihilwrites]

The World that is not Our World: a work of fiction

this chapter's fairly short, but it introduces most of the main characters.

Chapter 2: Guests at the Museum

                She walked through the hall for a good 40 minutes, according to her watch. It was like being in an endlessly long museum, with the eerie silence and the all the different doors. She passed innumerable doors, and no two were the same. Finally, after all that time, something happened. It was the first real something to happen that day, and it set a lot of other somethings in motion. (Well it was the first something, if you don’t count the talking cat, which she didn’t, because she didn’t find it very exciting.)

                That something that happened was that very suddenly, with a crash and several thuds, three very odd looking people fell out of a doorway and tripped over each other until they tumbled to rest in an unceremonious pile at Liinh’s feet. SO she did what all people would do if they found a tangle of oddly-dressed adults at their feet. She politely asked, “Hullo, do you need a hand?”

                The man on top of the pile ignored her proffered hand and jumped up on his own. He straightened a dirty but elaborately decorated top hat on his head and narrowed his eyes, looking left and right down the corridor. He dusted off his brown, or maybe crimson (It was rather grimy), tailcoat and took a few steps down the corridor in the direction Liinh had been heading, then paused and resumed his previous action of futilely turning his head every which way.

                Meanwhile, a young man with tousled blonde hair was lying on top of a disgruntled-looking girl, and chuckling quietly, as though this was the funniest situation they could have landed in, which at the time, Liinh found rather amusing as well. The girl, or woman, it was hard to tell, was splayed out on her back, struggling to lift the immense weight off of her chest. “Gerrof, Kelsi, you’re crushing me!” she snarled.

                He rolled off and onto his feet then pulled her up to a standing position as well. “Sorry, Esty, I think we lost them.” He turned to the man in the top hat and said “Hey, Fel, stop bobbing your head around like a lost lil’ birdie. You might as well give up looking, they’re long gone by now.

                The man in the top hat bristled and spat “Don’t call me that!”

                 Liinh couldn’t help thinking, “he’s like an indignant cat.” her ignored hand dropped to her side, useless. She wondered if they had heard her. Just as she was thinking this, the girl noticed liinh and jumped halfway out of her skin. Before she knew what was happening, Liinh was pressed up against a wall with a knife at her throat and two bright gold eyes staring into her own dull, brown ones. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to notice, but she had really beautiful eyes. She said sharply, “Are you with the Caede?”

                Genuinely confused, and a little disoriented from looking into her eyes, Liinh stumbled over her words, “Erm, what? What’s a guy day?

                Apperantly the girl believed Liinh because she backed off and said to the others, “I think she’s okay.”

                The blond one smiled and said “Of course she is! You ever see a caede dressed like that?” he offered his hand to Liinh and said “nice to meet you…”

                “Liinh.” She provided. “like the normal Lin but with two I’s and an h. and you would be…”

                “Kelsi.” He filled in. “real name Ezekiel, but no one calls me that. This is Esty.” He said, gesturing to the girl.”

                “Real name Estelle.” She added with a slight smile, “Everyone calls me that except Kelsi.”

                “And finally,” said Kelsi, “ this is Fel.”

                “No its not!” he said, surprisingly to Kelsi and not to Liinh. “My name is Felier. FELIER. F-E-L-I-E-R!”

                Kelsi  laughed and said “Aw, shucks, fel. You know I don’t know how to spell.” Felier simmered angrily while Kelsi ignored him and turned to talk to Liinh again.

                “You ddin’t see a couple scoundrals run by here, did you?” asked Estelle.

“No, sorry, can you tell me where I am?”

                Kelsi answered “I’ve never been here before, but its probably somewhere near east latterday, and only a half hourse run from our direction to the iilkai clan, if you know them.”

                Of course, she didn’t know them. “Could you tell me where that is in relation to say, New York City?” she asked doubtfully.

                All three of them gave me blank looks. After a moment Estelle asked “What’s new York city? I’ve never herd of it. Is it somewhere near old moonside? I hear they have some weird names like that.

                Liinh nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Never heard of New York City. I was afraid of that.”

[nihilwrites]

The World that is not Our World: a work of fiction

Chapter 1: Doors

                It started in the house that was not quite her house. At first it was her house, but then later it wasn’t. the story starts how many stories of this sort start, with a perfectly normal morning. She woke up late, on a beautiful Sunday in spring, brushed her teeth, and took a shower. She should have realized it would be a bad day when she couldn’t find her favorite pair of jeans that she just KNEW she had hung up in her closet last night. She considered putting on a skirt, but she didn’t feel like looking nice just to lounge around the house. She opened the window to see what the weather was like. Warm, but a bit windy. After trying on several unsatisfactory outfits, (what can I say? She was a sixteen year old girl) she decided on green cargo pants and her old daftpunk t-shirt. She chose the pants because they had lots of big pockets, and she hated carrying a bag, and she chose the shirt because Daft funk is Fucking amazing. Unknown to her then, the many pockets in her pants would prove to be quite useful.

                It was a nice day with nothing to do, so she grabbed an easy read of the shelf, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and she left her room. She stopped by the linen closet to pick up a towel so she wouldn’t have to lie directly on the grass. The first one she picked up was an old Minnie mouse towel. She thought it would be silly to use that one, so she took the one with a picture of a sunset over the ocean instead. She stopped by the kitchen on the way out and stuck three cereal bars in her pocket. Armed with food, a towel, many pockets, and a good book, she began walking down the stairs to exit through the garage door.

                When she got to the bottom of the stairs, though, her garage wasn’t there. She looked around the wood-paneled room in confusion. It looked like the living room in an old cottage. She turned around and looked at the familiar staircase that turned seamlessly into this other house. She could still see her modern white-washed walls at the top. She called up, “Hey, Mom!?” before remembering that her mom worked on Sundays. She slung the towel around her neck and put her book into an extra large pocket on her left pant leg. While she pulled her hair up into a messy bun on the top of her head, she took her first cautious steps forward. When the ground didn’t melt from under her feet and the ceiling didn’t cave in, she walked a little more confidently and looked around, taking in the cabin-like qualities of the room.

                “might as well try a door” she said to no one in particular. There was a large wood-paneled one, slightly ajar, immediately to her left. She pulled it open completely and let a little sight of appreciation escape her lips. The room looked like somewhere a little angel girl would sleep. There was a canopy bed with delicate white lace curtains and simple, crisp, white bedding. In the corner was a large painted wooden dollhouse. If she had examined it more closely, she might have recognized the striking similarity it bore to her own home. On the opposite side of the room from where she entered there was a set of white slotted-wood doors. She pulled them open, expecting a closet, but what she got instead was something quite different. Her first thought was, “It’s the room of requirement.” She got that impression because immediately in from of the door there was a large stack of old and broken furniture that reached to the ceiling. After a moment, though, she realized that the stack was only a few feet deep. And in the house that was not quite her house, in the room that was never hers, in the wall opposite the stack, there was a door.

                And at the door, there was a cat. There were light scratch marks on the heavy, stained-wood door, like he had been trying to claw his way itn. He was thin, and rather scraggly. she definitely thought “alley cat” not “house cat,” which was interesting because they were in a house, not an alley, at the time. The scruffy head turned and two bright yellow eyes stared into hers, then, he said “MROW.” It was an unpleasant, tired-sounding, mono-syllable, somewhere between a siren and a screech. It reminded her of a grumpy old man. Somehow, it put the thought into her head that the cat was trying to say “C’mon, stupid human girl. Open the damn door already.” She didn’t know if that was what he really meant or not, but she replied, “Okay, kitty-cat. I’ll open the door.” His fur bristled. Liinh thought to herself that he must not like being referred to as “kitty-cat.” He was definitely a grumpy old man.

                She probably should have been more hesitant to open the door, since she was in a strange house and didn’t know how she got there, but for some reason she could never explain again, she felt no reluctance when she placed her hand on the knob. It felt like Home, this house that was not quite her house. In any case, she opened the door. It was filled, floor to ceiling, with old bricks and cement. I won’t lie, she was rather disappointed. She closed the door again, turned to the cat, and said, “Sorry. It doesn’t go anywhere.”

Then the cat, who was not her cat, rolled his eyes. She didn’t think cats could roll their eyes, but this cat could do a lot of things that other cats couldn’t do. For instance, after he rolled his eyes, he said to her, “ Why would there be a door there if it didn’t go anywhere? That’s what doors do. They mark entrances and exits and transitions. Think, girl, think.”

The cat seemed very logical so she tried the door again. This time it opened up into somewhere very interesting indeed. It was one of many mis-matched doors along a narrow red-brick hallway. Every few feet there were a few flickering candles in wrought-iron candlesticks bolted to the wall. Every stick stood tall, and none of them seemed to be melting. She wondered who had lit them. “So do all of these doors go somewhere?” she asked, stepping forward into the walkway. The doors were spaced unevenly, sometimes right next to each other, sometimes six meters apart. They were all different sizes and shapes, ranging from elaborate mouse-holes to great rough-hewn stone archways.

The cat stalked down the hallway to the left and purred over his shoulder, “all doors go somewhere.”

she replied, “you know, cats can’t talk.” He paused and shrugged then bounded off until he was out of her sight around a bend in the hallway. When he was gone, she closed the door behind her, and took a moment to memorize it for later. Dark polished wood, with four rectangular panels, a brass doorknob, and no keyhole. Then, she took the branch to the right and began walking at a moderate New-Yorker pace.

[nihilwrites]

The End of the Earth: a poem

Perhaps the summer air is all too sweet

Or maybe winter’s chill too long

But is the earth too quiet still

To cleanse the world in holy song

Alas this planet is too young

With many children yet unborn

So I will bid this world adieu

And for my loss you need not mourn

I’ll watch on high the last seas boil

And feed the ground where you still toil 

[nihilwrites]

Memoir of a Weed: A work of fiction

He was first aware of himself in a warm dark space. The claustrophobia is overwhelming. Immediately he began to send out little green shoots, not knowing up from down. The initial energy that he had stored inside himself was running low. He feared he would not survive the next few days. Instinct told him that sun was just out of reach of his longest tentacle. With a sudden and decisive push, desperate to live, he entered the word of light and sun.

This desperate need to live was his defining characteristic. He knew that somewhere deep down in the soil, his brothers had died, unable to complete the journey. Some of them were stillborn, just seeds in the dirt. Some had green sprouts just beginning to poke out, and some had just a few more centimeters to go, and could not finish the final stretch.

This realization kept him alive. He had to keep his father’s legacy, live for his brothers, and spread his children far and wide. Growing up alone, fighting solo, he was a family man at heart. Soon after the little green sprouts found the sun, he pushed newborn leaves into the air. He spread his roots deep and far and wide, until he was no longer a helpless child, but an adult, prepared to battle for his life.

In expanding his horizons, he found that he was not alone in this world of rich land and strong light, but what he found was not like him. This was a strange, new, alien plant. Its roots were thick and brutal. It would choke him if he did not starve it first. He pulled from the land till he grew to tower over his neighbor. He had all the light and water he could need. The once-thick roots of the nearby plant shriveled, and the leaves above withered and died. He reigned supreme, and in this peak he began to flower, so his children might live to be as successful as he.

Before a single blossom ever opened, he was ripped from the ground. He felt naked with his roots in the air. Pulled from the ground, his leaves turned brown, and he decomposed to become one with the earth again, and he was re-united with his brothers.

Thus, ends the live of a weed.

[nihilwrites]

A Glow on the Horizon

The future’s looking bright, my friend The future’s looking bright Out there is something right, my friend Out there is something right But the present feels so bleak, my dear The present feels so bleak It makes my heartbeats weak, my dear It makes my heartbeats weak The horizon’s all aglow, my friend The horizon’s all aglow There’s color there I know, my friend There’s color there I know My life is black and white, my dear My life is black and white But now I see the light, my dear Indeed, the future’s bright!