Here’s my writing submissions for English, they’re worth a Bit of my grade.
· Writing is hard but "hard" is rewarding
“I’m a writer.” He whispers to himself, as he dosn’t fucking write. He sighs then closes his laptop, plunging his room into complete darkness.
A million unwritten scenes flash through his head, pleading to be brought to fruition. Giant monsters, gods of other worlds, hearts broken by friends, a world doomed by a singular action, and he can't find the words.
The boy leans back in his chair then stares out of his window. He’s met with a dark sky, tree’s swaying gently in a midsummer's night breeze, faint stars burning above him. What a beautiful sight.
He absentmindedly thumbs a black ring around his finger, a gift from a friend long ago, he talked to her just this morning. Thoughts of her, his best friend, flicker like flames across his mind, and he finds himself smiling.
He remembers where they've been and where they still need to go, an incomplete list from their teen years. A cafe overseas she promised to take him to, a favorite place of hers when she lived in France. A haunted mansion in California they unanimously agreed to visit, due to both of them being obsessed with the paranormal. His real home as he puts it, a beach on the east coast looking across the Atlantic where wild horses roam free.
He laughs softly. His writing had stopped because he couldn't find inspiration, a reason to create a beautiful, broken world with people of gold who brought light to it. Then he realizes he's living in that world. He opens his laptop, filled with newfound determination.
He writes with a smile, filling pages and pages with words that remind him of her. Her mind, her heart, her smile, her laugh, her name. Words that remind him of Sarah.
Were You Ever Really There
Conan watches, bored, as the newest asshole to request something unreasonable of him starts screaming about him daring to act like a tyrant when he denies his demand.
The two guards stationed at the bottom of the steps leading to his throne look about ready to kick him to the next dimension over, which brings a smile to his face.
The man stops yelling for a moment when he notices the smile on Conan’s face. “What is so funny, Fate?” He spits.
Conan bristles as the lack of a title after his rude question. He sits up straight and gives him the truth. “I was thinking about how funny it would be to watch my guards kick your ass.”
His guards tense, presumably trying to keep from laughing. He smirks at the rage burning in the man's eyes.
“Oh, I’ll show you whose ass is gonna be kicked-” The man goes to run up the steps and promptly falls on his face from a well-placed foot from the guard on Conan’s left.
The other guard snorts then covers her mouth, embarrassed.
The man pushes himself to his knees, revealing a bloody nose from the steps sharp corners. Conan had done that one too many times when he was Mother’s champion. He hisses then gives Conan a pissed glare, had Conan not been immortal and a god, he surely would have been dead.
He forces himself to his feet and points a bloodied finger at Conan. “You have no right to sit where Mother once did, acting as a tyrant in her place when she actually cared for her citizens.”
The guards freeze when he finishes his sentence.
Conan’s smile drops into a hard set line. His eyes change from their heterochromatic black and hazel to molten ruby. His horns creak and it appears as if ash starts to flake off of them.
He stands, looking down at the now apprehensive man. Conan stares him down, forcing the man to keep his gaze. “Say that again.”
His guards look between each other nervously, this might be the third time in five months they've seen this happen. The man stutters, unable to respond.
Conan descends the steps, and his guards step to the side. Despite being several inches taller the man cowers away from him.
Conan catches his shoulder before he can turn and run, then forces his palm to the man's forehead. He makes him live through his worst possible future in a matter of seconds, the life he took away from himself because he couldn't deal with the loss.
When Conan takes his hands back the man collapses into a heap of tears, his wails ringing off the throne room walls. Conan scoffs as he picks himself off the floor and runs towards the door. He watches the man leave the throne room and sighs.
His guards try to muffle their laughter as he slides onto the floor groaning, distracted from what just occurred for a moment. One of the two clears her throat, giggling softly. “My Lord, what will become of him?”
He sighs then presses his palms to the floor, following his footsteps away from the castle. Conan looks into the most probable future, following the web of time until he has to weave the strands together. “He will regret what he said and rethink over his life thus far, he will realize everyone that he has hurt in his life due to his short temper...”
He reaches farther into the future, straining to find his course of action. “He will make amends with his wife,” He says, “Then he will dedicate more time with his son and daughter and vow to be a better father, he follows through on his promise and dies a loved grandfather for his kindness and wisdom.” He opens his eyes with a slight headache, his eyes returning to normal.
His guards look down at him, shocked. For the other two they died horrible deaths due to their own self destruction, this was a change of pace for them.
One of the girls smiles, and she looks to her fellow guard. “That’s good, he changed, he’s better now.” The other smiles, recognizing that she's right.
They look down at their derpy god and laugh. “May we go, Lord Fate?”
He looks up from the floor and nods. When they turn to leave he sits up with a start then shouts after them. “Can one of you get Consigne for me please?”
The other guard shoots him a smile and nods. “Sure thing Lord Fate!”
The door closes with a bang after they leave, and Conan begins to wait impatiently. He crosses his legs, avoiding snagging his cape. He tries his best to keep his thoughts away from the location he’s in, favoring thinking of his beloved and what they’re going to do for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
Mabey a run in the woods? Consigne has voiced that they've been missing the feel of leaves underfoot and hidden stars overhead. A faint memory of him and Mother taking a night walk flashes through his head, and he feels a stab of pain through his chest. A visit to one of the pantheon? They've been meaning to visit the Misplaced and Defender, but they are a few days journey away. Another memory, from not long ago, the dinner party with everyone from the pantheon, when he got stuck in the ceiling, and Mother teased him about it for weeks. The stab turns into an ache, he looks to the center of the room and shudders at the scenes that cross his mind. A visit to the north side mabey?
Before he can think through his last thought the doors to the room open and a large white muzzle pokes through the crack. The rest of Consigne’s towering form steps through, their white fur turned rainbow due to the stained glass in the room's walls. Their back barely brushes against the massive doors archway as they walk all the way inside.
Conan smiles wide then jumps up and runs to them, burying his face in their fur once his hands have tangled themselves in the soft strands. He hears a soft laugh and looks up to a smiling face and dark skin, his hands tangled in the ends of their long hair.
“Did you miss me or something?” They say with a chuckle.
“Of course!” He exclaims.
They put a hand to the side of his face. and he leaned into their touch, relishing the cold. They must have been outside. It was starting to turn to the winter months on the Isle of Shadows.
“Are you alright Love?” Consigne asks softly. Conan opens his eyes, not realizing he had closed them.
“Why wouldn't I be?” He asks, confused.
They can tell something is off. The room feels different, there's more space, there's more than just their presences, something else is with them. Consigne looks around the throne room, searching for the thing that would show he wasn't okay.
Their eyes fall on a crack in the floor at the center of the room. It wasn't just a crack in the stone brick, the crack reflected the universe, stars and suns, the infinite web of time.
Conan follows their gaze and freezes at the crack in the floor. Violent images flash across his mind, memories from long ago that could have been just seconds away. Mother, Prophet, fighting and spilled blood… final words and one goodbye.
Consigne turns his head away from the crack and sighs. They feel him shaking. They carefully push away a few strands of hair from his face, avoiding pricking their hand on his horns. “You have to fix that thread Conan…”
He shakes his head, refusing to look at the place where Mother died. “Mother can do it, she did it before.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I’m not doing it.”
Consigne’s chest tightens at his words. They know he’s not being stubborn, that he’s just in pain. They look around the room, noticing that it’s gotten darker, despite the clear days sky outside. Their gaze tears back to the crack, and they startle when they see a figure flicker into existence.
Her form is faint, but she's there. Starlight drips off Mother’s opaque form, her beautiful dress fading into nothing but glitter and the webs of time. She gives Consigne a soft smile, then looks at her son.
Conan still hasn't turned around, but he can feel her presence, he knows she’s there. He doesn't know what he’d do if he saw her smiling at him again. Half a century since her death. Five decades of telling himself that she’s not coming back. She won’t hold him close when he can't sleep, won't kiss his forehead and tell him it's okay when he has a hard time existing, won't tell him she loves him more than anything else in the world.
Mother brought Consigne into the living world to be there for him and be his other half. Because fate and coincidence are nothing without the other.
Mother shakes her head, the horns curled over her sparkling with the movement. She walks over to them, footsteps soundless, dress billowing behind her. Consigne carefully steps away from their creator, leaving Conan to wrap his arms around himself, still turned away from her. Her obsidian black eyes betray every little thing she wants to say. A thousand unsaid promises and wishes aching to be said, half a century to late. She starts to set her hand on his shoulder then hesitates.
Why? Why extend her powers to the living world to see her son again? Why hesitate? She loves him too much to hurt him. She’s seen then through the void of darkness and webs of time to the smile of fate and laughter of coincidence.
Would he be happy to never see her again? He could move on, live his eternal life without seeing her smile of pride, hear her joyous laugh, her sweet voice. Then again, he cried himself to sleep for a decade pleading to a dead goddess to come back, woken up from fitful nights of sleep screaming The Blind Prophets name, and left himself to rot in a castle, outside the closed throne room doors where his mother died.
Mother sets her hand on his shoulder and turns him to face her. Tears spill down his face when he sees her beautiful eyes and smile.
She laughs quietly and cups his face in her hands. He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers, careful to keep their horns from tangling, something he did many times.
“My son.” She whispers, voice like honey and smoke.
“Mom-” He chokes on his words, a thousand differient ways to say “I love you” caught in his throat, and he can't find the right one. She knows what he’s trying to say though, she always has, when he’s been at a loss for words she’s always known, somehow.
Mother pulls away to properly look at him. She smiles softly at his mismatched eyes that she caused. “I love you, son, I always have, and I always will.”
He starts to cry even harder then wraps his arms around her, she moves to do the same. “I love you Mom.” He manages between quick breaths.
Her face twists, a mix of pain and regret. “I love you baby, I need you to wake up-”
He shoots up in bed, a cold sweat running down his neck. He rapidly looks around the room, panicking because he isn't living through the scene in his dream. Then he realizes.
Conan looks to his right, and Consigne is fast asleep, curled around a pillow where he’s supposed to be. Tears start to well in his eyes. He brings his knees to his chest then hides his face, crying silent tears.
Soon Consigne will wake and hold him close and sing him to sleep before he can start to scream. When he’s sound asleep in Consigne’s lap they’ll sigh and run a delicate hand over the piercings in his horns. Something will knock over Conan’s staff in the corner. They'll snap towards the noise and see a figure they swear had pitch eyes, towering horns, and an ink dress of silk.
She disappears before Consigne can be sure she was there.
(This is a part of my friend/family storyline for a world they created, I added to a character of mine’s lore.)
Lessons To Learn
Oh, look at you Will, stood to the side
Too much of a man to swallow your pride
-
General of L’manberg, lest you forget
Leave me to my work little junior cadet
-
Sounds like you've got something to hide
Should I go tell them that you’ve lied?
-
Oh Tommy, so quick to judge and yet
You're the one who’s getting so upset
-
Maybe that's because my hands are tied
Dream could have a man on the inside
-
[Will gets angy]
-
If you really wanna know
Let’s go
Wanna bet?
My loyalty hasn’t been tried just yet
-
[Silence from Tommy]
-
Stay in your place Tommy
Try to change your mindset
To fear the person who’s actually a threat
(Lyrics for a Minecraft SMP server that got lore on accident, I got inspired. There’s more where this came from, but this is what I wrote for the daybook.)
