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Old 12-06-2003, 02:50 AM
  #1
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Original Fiction thread

Thought I'd start a thread where people can promote their original fiction. Would anyone like to share their pieces? [img]smilies/look.gif[/img]

Here's a short story of mine: Glass and Bone. It was done mostly as an exercise in extended metaphor-as-fiction, so it's a bit obscure, but I'm strangely proud of it. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]
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Old 12-11-2003, 05:57 PM
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Two writing exercises:
http://gabrielle.frosti.org/writing/...hp?sid=2&cid=4 - funeral http://gabrielle.frosti.org/writing/...hp?sid=1&cid=4 - eating disordered individual goes out
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Old 12-11-2003, 06:22 PM
  #3
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nameEnglish Patient

Tagline:a mystery English man. moves to town Changing the gilmore girls Life’s, forever


read here

please feel free to read and review it

[ 12-11-2003: Message edited sir_drinks_alot ]
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Old 12-11-2003, 07:36 PM
  #4
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Sir Drinks a lot - please note this thread is for original fiction and not original characters. If you have written a fic for a fandom, please post the link at the relevant fandom thread. Cheers. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

[ 12-11-2003: Message edited Silversun ]
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Old 12-12-2003, 11:01 AM
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So can we direct post here or are we still linking?
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Old 12-12-2003, 03:57 PM
  #6
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At the moment we're still discussing the specifics of direct posting on this thread. Once we've got most rules and guidelines set down (probably in a day or two), direct posting can begin. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
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Old 12-12-2003, 08:24 PM
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Em, I've made up this story but i'm not sure where I can upload it/post it. My friend who read it had suggested to me that I post so you guys can feedback on it?

Could you help me?
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Old 12-12-2003, 09:29 PM
  #8
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How long is your story Candy*4eva? If it's around 1000 words long, you'll be able to post it here in a couple of days, because we're just changing our rules at the moment; but if it's a lot longer than 1000 words, you will need to host it at a website first. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
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Old 12-15-2003, 02:35 PM
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Breaking news! Breaking news!

You can now post up to 1000 words of your original fic on this thread. Please check out the details here first. Have fun! [img]smilies/glow.gif[/img]

***
This is a short story I wrote last year. It was inspired by somebody's web journal.

Fragment

You're already awake when the radio alarm clock goes off, playing some pop song you half recognize, one of those catchy little numbers that is going to get stuck in your head for the rest of the day. You curse out loud, not bothering turning it off now that the damage is done. Instead, you lie there staring up at the ceiling, which you had painted black a few days ago, along with the bedroom walls. The whole place stinks of nail polish remover.

Throw on your favourite shirt, the black one with obscenities scrawled across the front. Put on those steel-capped boots that have too many eyelets and take much too long to lace up. Your hair you ceased to care about, after you suffered an accidental result from a box of hair dye and then thought what the hell, it's ruined anyway, and proceeded to hack half of it off with a pair of blunt scissors. It looks awful. To everybody else you say you love the ugliness but sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror, and wonder.

Run into your mother on the stairwell. She has just arrived home from her night shift, heavy-footed and bleary-eyed. Catching sight of you, a look of despair flits across her face, which she doesn’t bother to conceal and you pretend not to see.

"What have you done to your hair?" She asks, lifting a hand as though she wants to touch you, but thinks the better of it in the last minute. The hand lingers in the air for a moment too long, and you notice that her nails are painted a garish red, the polish chipped badly in places.

"Time for a change." You answer, taking a step back.

"You should really get it fixed by a hairdresser or something," she says.

You ignore her and walk toward the front door. Behind you, she sighs. You pretend not to hear because really, that's what she expects. If you turn around and for once acknowledge what she is suggesting, she'll probably die of shock.

On the bus, a girl wearing shiny crimson lipstick stares at your ringbinder, on which you've stuck a picture of your favourite musician. When you notice, you smile at her, hoping to communicate your approval of her evident appreciation, and she hastily looks away. For the rest of the trip you watch her, switching back and forth between your peripheral vision and what you can see of her in the window's reflection. You notice that her eyelashes cast feathery, crescent-shaped shadows over her cheekbones, and you drift off into an indistinct reverie where everything takes on the glistening hue of blood.

You can't understand what you're supposed to be learning in class, how people could get so excited by it all. While they ask the teacher questions and laugh and debate and joke around, you stare blankly out the window, unable to focus on anything they are saying. Outside, the sky is an unnatural shade of cobalt blue and the clouds seem too white and too fluffy to be real. You close your eyes and pretend that you are floating outside your body, drifting above the heads of everyone else.

The weather is tempestuous and on the way home, the sky suddenly seems to burst open at the seams. Rain starts coming down in sheets. You like it because everybody else scurries past with their heads down, the occasional book bag used as some sort of shield, whereas you do not bother. It makes you feel a little bit more unusual, a bit more poetic, to saunter in the rain as though you have no need or want for shelter. Acknowledging to yourself that this is somewhat pretentious, you do it nevertheless. It's one of those few things you actually enjoy.

Getting home in the late afternoon, you walk in the door, dripping a wet trail over the living room carpet. Your mother has dragged herself out of bed and runs around trying to ready herself for another night's work. Seeing you, she comes to a stop, her face tired and pinched. You notice the faint lines etched into the corners of her eyes and touch your own face as though to verify that you haven't yet grown old. Your fingertips come away inky black, coated with a mixture of mascara and rainwater.

She blinks, once, twice, and you can see that she's going to get tearful. She does it every once in a while, when the silence in this house gets too heavy to bear. You watch her, vaguely uncomfortable but mostly intrigued by the angry red blotches that are starting to appear in her otherwise pallid cheeks.

"What the **** am I supposed to do with you?" She half mumbles, half sobs. "I'm trying the best I can."

You shrug, assuming that she doesn't really expect an answer. You step past her delicately as to not disturb her distress, walk back into your room and close the door. Take off your shoes and put on a CD, the song you’re currently obsessed with, full of shimmering guitar riffs and lyrics that speak obliquely of your world. The reek of nail polish remover still lingers within these walls.

You open one of the windows, letting the fresh smell of rain drift through, along with a blast of cold air. You sit on the windowsill and light up a cigarette, throw the match outside with its tip still glowing. Lately you have taken to spending more time watching cigarettes than smoking them, and now you sit, observing how ash gradually builds up on itself then collapses, the grey-white flakes swirling into the wind.

Let everybody else try and tell you that there could be meaning in this. You know the truth.

[ 12-15-2003: Message edited Silversun ]
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Old 12-18-2003, 10:43 PM
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There's something about death that makes you think about life. What you've done, what's left to do and how none of it really matters in the long run. With just a few exceptions, no one will be remembered once those who knew him are gone. So what makes life not meaningless? Faith? Love? Nothing? Is it a string of events planned by God, by your parents, your spouse, your kids? A series of moments held together by love and care? Why do these thoughts only come when you see your lifelong friend laying in a box ready to be put in the ground?

Continued here.
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Old 12-20-2003, 08:53 PM
  #11
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Sorry it took me so long to reply! I've been making my personal site which I'm hosting my current story Forbidden Love as found here
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Old 12-26-2003, 04:45 PM
  #12
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In Time - a monologue to Stephen

Sometimes I think I should have gotten used to it. The taste of wishes crowding the air: a slightly metallic, salty sweetness, thick and warm like blood. Whispered words that clutter up all these nights on hopes that, by some miracle or if I could only concentrate hard enough, you might hear.

Of course I'd never thought of what your reaction may be if you ever take heed of those words. My wishes only carry me so far.

Today we passed each other and you smiled the most beautiful smile. They always say that you can brighten somebody's day with a smile, in my case the day itself fell away, leaving behind only a fuzzy blissful feeling, enough to cover the flaws of this world. Granted, my case had always been that much more extreme, hadn't it?

I forget that you wouldn't know.

I’d like – so much, you won't understand – to think that I was the cause of that smile, or any of your smiles. Anything to indicate that I had made you feel more than indifference. Those wishes press down on me again, whispering in their own urgent way (since they know no other) please please please please can I keep you...

Can I keep you?

It's those little things that make you whole and fragmented and flawed and perfect all at once, in my eyes. The way you tend to fidget regardless of where you’re sitting or standing. The reverence that you hold for those old films. The sight of you sitting alone on the quad, nursing your usual cup of coffee. The way that your self-amused comments hang in the air a moment longer than they should. Those winter days when you were so rumpled you perpetually look like you just rolled out of bed. The sound of your voice, and the person behind the smile.

I'm jealous and possessive and petty and obsessive and I don't know you well enough to say that I'm justified, even minutely, in saying what I feel. But this is me, delusion is nothing new. It's a fault which, to be fair, should not have belonged to me at all. Nevertheless it does. This elevated image of you permeates my being and it makes me want to be better than myself, perhaps better than I could ever be.

The days dart away from us. Time goes simultaneously slower and faster when you are around. How can I ever say this in a way that will make sense? It doesn't even make sense to me and the way I'm telling this is too desultory to make sense on its own. Fantasy surrounds me, making me think that I know you better than I do; then I turn around and despair because I don’t really know you at all and the very fact makes me bitter. Sometimes I’m not content with just a smile. Sometimes I want something else. You’re not even gone and I have already begun missing you – the truth of the matter is that I hate the idea of not being able to see you around... to have you here all the time.

Can I keep you?

I don't know what else to say. Seeing you makes me feel like I need to do something, to take this sweet melancholy and make something beautiful out of it. Something that I can keep even when you're gone; something to remind me just how I managed to let myself fall away through all of this. It’s like shedding layers of skin and finding something entirely different beneath. Something better? As of now I do not know and I cannot tell, but if I had to make a guess then yes, I think I am better because of you.

You know what I've started doing now? Trying to convince myself that time is the key to all this. That given enough time and enough space, our lives shall fall apart and splinter and hurtle in all sorts of directions undreamed of, but – and that's the part I hold on to – but our lives will eventually collide again. In time, I may keep you. I've started believing in a force outside of me, a force that could drive things to happen the way we need them to. I falter at calling it fate but I have no other word for it, not in this language.

Would it mean much to say here that I have reached some sort of conclusion? I do know that I cannot, and have not; I will never be resolved where you're concerned. That's just how things are. I shouldn’t despair, because in time, miracles may still happen. In time.
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Old 01-23-2004, 01:18 PM
  #13
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Feedback:
silversun - I love In Time. It's got some lovely feelings in it. The line 'Can I keep you?' Sounds really whispered and secretive when I read it.

Candy4eva - I love that story [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] Major goodness.

DevotedFanOfMatt - I like the subject of your piece. It's written really well.

I wrote this recently. It was written at 2.30am so it's slightly confusing [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
Absolution

'GET UP.'

'I didn't do it.'

'GET UP.'

'Stay away from me. Get away, leave me alo……'

It was dark, darker than the bruises from the past. Her eyes closed over and opened again. Bright blue eyes looked back at her; she was drowning in them like they were an ocean. An ocean so calm, peaceful…safe. Then they were gone, leaving her in the shadows once again.

Her eyes closed over only to open once more. A blue sky, green grass and a lake. She was alone in this serene place. Nobody to talk to, nobody to love, nobody to hurt. Her hands reached into the lake to take a handful of water. She lifted her hands up to her mouth; a salty taste came from her mouth. The water turned red, the lake was still as clear as ever, it was coming from her arm. The cuts deep, as though a knife had cut them. The crimson liquid kept falling, drop by drop onto the grass, into the lake. The grass began to die, all life was erased. The lake turned red, a river of pain. She fell.

'I told you she was faking, there's nothing wrong with her.'

Her vision was blurred, she couldn't see but she could hear everything. A man's voice, a woman crying, a girl dying.

'Get up.' A soft voice, a small hand upon her own. An innocent child standing in front of her, her vision as clear as ever. There was something familiar about the child, she'd seen her before.

'Come on.' The child ran to a swing set and sat down. The dimples on her cheek showing as she laughed with delight. The world was new, she was an innocent. Nothing could ruin her. She followed the child and sat beside her. Time moved fast, the swings began to rust, the flowers died and grew again but the child stayed the same. She swung higher and higher, but the laughter began to die. It came to a stop, she tried to get it to move but a force stopped it. Tears fell from the innocent eyes, unsure of why the world had changed. Why her life had become so painful. Something stood in her way. She began to fade with every tear that fell. The girl was alone once more, another had died.

Loud sirens and men speaking. Her eyes still shut; no matter how hard she tried she couldn't open them. There was a pain everywhere but it didn't hurt, not like the pain in her heart. It was dying, turning black with every dream that died.

Faces crowded her mind, so many familiar faces. But there were two she didn't recognise. One stood in front of her, broken, bruised and battered. It was her; it was what he had done to her. Who was he? She didn't know him anymore. She had known him once but that was but a memory. He had cared; he had loved her but not anymore. What had she done wrong?

The beeping of a machine, the sound of someone breathing heavily, the sobs of the woman. They all filled her ears. Where was she? Who was she? What had happened?

'Sorry…tried…heart…gave up…too late…sooner…maybe…' The broken conversation began to fade; a woman's cries could be heard in the background, like she'd lost her life. The weight in her heart began to lift.

Those eyes again, those bright blue eyes, they watched her enter the world. The grass came back; the lake was clear and the sky a brighter blue than could ever be imagined. The little girl sat next to the lake, a small white dove in her hand.

She walked over to the little girl. Their eyes spoke to each other like they were connected. The little girl handed her the dove and then ran and sat on a far away swing set, the strength to go as high as she wanted came back again. Nothing was stopping her, nothing could touch her now.

'Be free.' She lifted her hands to the sky and let it go. A single tear rolled down her cheek, the realisation of what this meant hit her. She was free now, free of the pain. It was gone.

The dove flew without fear, the little girl swung to her hearts content. The girl let out one soft sigh and lay down on the grass to at last lie in peace.

A man's sorrowful screams filled the land, the realisation of what he'd done. He couldn't take it back but it seemed unimportant to her. She'd forgiven him, for she loved him. Even after everything he had done, she still loved him. She had her peace now.


*Feedback Is appreciated. Did you hate it? Like it? Confused?*

[ 01-23-2004: Message edited silvercrystal ]
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Old 01-23-2004, 03:40 PM
  #14
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I enjoyed the story Silvercrystal. I think it was just complicated enough to be interesting, but not so confusing as to leave the reader going 'wha? Huh?' at the end. The imagery you used were lovely. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]
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Old 02-11-2004, 01:21 PM
  #15
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Here's my first piece of dystopic fiction [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]Hope you like it!


*

In My Life

The sand felt cozy beneath her feet as she happily admired a little girl and her Dad playing in the sand, giggles erupting from her little smiling face brought a subconscious joy to those who heard it. The washed out crash of waves breaking in the distance and the warm glow of the sun disappearing past the horizon created a perfect backdrop for a wonderful afternoon. Her distant eyes spanned across the panorama of beachscape that had surrounded her so many times before, and on most occasions allowed her dreamy mind to become lost in a sea of inescapable utopia. It was the world the old wished for and the world the young envied. It was the previous world. The lost world.

Elle Dowton was jolted out of her thoughts as a beer can noisily rolled along the rocks and came to rest on the side of her shoe. She sighed and picked up the bottom of her dress, reluctantly letting go of the memory the visited almost everyday. She knew her body was becoming frail and old, but nothing, not even one of those fancy-spangle-new-age health analysis pills could convince her that she was also becoming weak in the mind.

She kicked the can away in frustration of what the world had become and stepped onto the boardwalk that lead to the building entrance of the beach. The clickty-clack of her one-inch heels was the only sound accompanying the whirl of the breeze trailing up and down the shore, carrying with it a musty sea stench that irked most passersby. The automatic doors edged open as she approached the doorway before a flood of cool air hit her right in the face. She grimaced and continued to walk as she glanced at a sullen looking tourist perusing a travel brochure for the area in which she lived. Smiles were seldom these days, and she knew it, even in herself that it was becoming more and more true; her mind told her that she was becoming a grump like most others who were already there.

Her hands rummaged in her purse searching for some loose change to pay the toll on her way out. Elle stood in front of the door, struggling to latch onto the three dollar coin she knew was floating around down there. Finally, and after much fight, she took the coin and slotted it into the opening. The screen registered her payment and released the lock on the door, letting it slide open.

Before Elle could anticipate it she was immediately surrounded by the bustle of the late afternoon workers, barging and squeezing their way past, being careful not to get lost in the soup of big black jackets. She cursed internally, compassion for an elderly woman lay somewhere between the odds of slim to none, but if she was to get home, the battle for a place in the pack was the only option for a warm cooked meal in the evening.

*

It was close the five-thirty. The ringing of portable thumb phones were so consistent they could be compared to a two second alarm clock- every two seconds - on the dot- never to fail. The drone of city noise pollution took over her mind and made thinking a thing of the past. Car horns and disgruntled drivers taking part in pointless verbal slanging-matches signaled their feelings towards all matters concerning getting home. This was nothing new. In fact, it was common.

The evening was rapidly taking over, and the bustle just seemed to increase. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Things were speeding up suddenly. She ignored these changes and continued on her path, figuring that it was just that time of day.

Elle inhaled sharply and began to feel a little light headed as the thick impurities of the air invaded her senses. She realized it wasn’t just that time of day. She glanced around quickly and splayed her sweaty fingers over the front of her dress as she tried to quicken her pace before the impulse to pass out took the best of her. The sidewalk so dense it caused instant claustrophobia. Passing conversations seemed inaudible. She heard nothing but the beating of her heart. And to most, her impending doom was to remain unknown. Only she could feel it. Her vision took a loop and trailed behind before it all caught up with a black streak that swam across her eyes. She wondered if it was becoming apparent to the oblivion around her. She staggered forward. Took another deathly breath and stopped. But it all kept going. Suddenly the beach was back and the little girl was tugging on the bottom of her dress. She dropped to her knees and still no one, no one at all. She was a wounded soldier on the enemy’s turf no one could save…no one would save.

Silence.

Elle lifted her head ever so slightly and saw pink sand shoes amongst the black ocean. They were going against the flow. Coming towards her. Then black. The little girl took the bottom of Elle’s dress and encouraged her to cross the sand. The sun beating down into her eyes…

Deafening sounds encircled every thread of her being. She tried to cover her ears, but failed when her hands yelled at her to remain upright. Her breathing was labored. Her face was contorting with an inexplicit kind of pain. Her eyes suddenly opened wide, the sight before her told her it must be a dream-or she was dead. The little face tilted as a small hand reached out and touched the side of Elle’s cheek. Her eyes closed momentarily and before long she was being motioned to sit down next to the sand castle the little girl made. It was a kingdom Elle was told. A kingdom that was full of life and hope the world had never seen before. It was the plea of a little girl who didn’t have the words to explain.

Her eyes inched open again and watched as the illusion of the small child disappeared into the gray swirl of pavement. A tear dropped from her chin as her head rolled up and looked into misty darkness of the evening for the last time . . .

Sparkling blue was the sky. Tropical green was the ocean. Golden yellow was the sand she would never forget and Elle was the little girl she saw in the distance.

*
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