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| A Welcome Visitor; no yet finished | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 17 2008, 04:20 PM (512 Views) | |
| girl anachronism | Sep 17 2008, 04:20 PM Post #1 |
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Try to remember
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A most welcome visitor is standing at my doorstep. I had asked him to come. The shadows that surround him do not frighten me, nor do the lost souls wrapped about his cloak. Others dread him and bid him leave for a while longer. They cannot comprehend my joy when his face appears in the window beckoning me to open the door. The years I have waited for this moment, the tortures I have endured within these walls, none of it matters. He is here now. My patience will finally be rewarded. There had been other days when he had come, when he had almost slipped through my front gate to greet me. I was so close and they held me back. Bolting the door and dragging me to darkest corner of the house. Those days I was powerless, foolish, thoughtless, weak, unprepared, and unarmed. Today will be different, today I will fight. Today he will come in. I will be ready to meet him and together we will leave. The visitor is clad in pure black flowing garments that flow about him as water avoids the stone. In his hand he has a staff made of the whitest ivory that stretches a foot above his head. Ornate creatures and beings are embedded along the length of the pole, too real to have been carved by earthly hands. He treads softly along the path for his feet are bare. White hair interlaced with flashes of silver falls freely about his shoulders, unbound and fighting a nonexistent breeze. The face is young, with eyes like a jade observing all that is seen and hidden. All about him there arises a mist, not unlike a fog in the early morning, but the mist itself is alive. As he approaches through the darkness I prepare myself. There will be no obstacles when he comes to lead me on. There will be no mistakes, not now, not again. He has come too close for them to risk saving me. He plagues their dreams and tortures their hopes. They will not risk being caught up in the storm that has been brewing since he stepped onto the pathway leading to the door. He knocks, I listen, he knocks again, I glance briefly at the house which has held me for the past 16 years, he knocks for the last time, and I run to the door. As I reach for the handle I feel my breath shorten and my body goes limp, my strength leaves me and I collapse. The door clicks and the handle turns slowly followed by the sudden rush of air as the rusted hinges creak outward. There he stands, not the angelic figure I had seen through the glass but instead a twisted gargoyle with rubies for eyes. it is NOT finished. It is NOT edited. I had a horrible day and wanted poetry but this came out instead.... in retrospect it sounds terrible but as i wrote it i felt much, much better because the world made sense again, though it still didn't like me. tell me your thoughts please. Edited by girl anachronism, Sep 17 2008, 04:20 PM.
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| +Linden | Sep 17 2008, 08:32 PM Post #2 |
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awesomesauce
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I see Death. ^_^ I'll wait till you're done before I offer up more of my interpretation. |
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| ** Death's servant | Sep 21 2008, 01:23 AM Post #3 |
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Reflection
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I f*cking love it. |
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| girl anachronism | Nov 28 2008, 04:27 PM Post #4 |
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Try to remember
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Ok here is an updated version. Tell me what you think. .a welcome visitor. A most welcome visitor is standing at my doorstep. I had asked him to come. The shadows that surround him do not frighten me, nor do the lost souls wrapped about his cloak. Others dread him and bid him leave for a while longer. They cannot comprehend my joy when his face appears in the window beckoning me to open the door. The years I have waited for this moment, the tortures I have endured within these walls, none of it matters. He is here now. My patience will finally be rewarded. There had been other days when he had come, when he had almost slipped through my front gate to greet me. I was so close and they held me back. Bolting the door and dragging me to darkest corner of the house. Those days I was powerless, foolish, thoughtless, weak, unprepared, and unarmed. Today will be different, today I will fight. Today he will come in. I will be ready to meet him and together we will leave. The visitor is clad in pure black flowing garments that glide about him as water avoids the stone. In his hand he has a staff made of the whitest ivory that stretches above his head as trees do when they reach for the sun. Ornate creatures and beings are embedded along the length of the pole, too real to have been carved by earthly hands. He treads softly along the path for his feet are bare. White hair interlaced with flashes of silver falls freely about his shoulders, unbound and fighting a nonexistent breeze. The face is young, with eyes like a jade observing all that is seen and hidden. All about him there drifts a mist, not unlike a fog in the early morning, but the mist itself is alive. As he approaches through the darkness I prepare myself. There will be no obstacles when he comes to lead me on. There will be no mistakes, not now, not again. He has come too close for them to risk saving me. He plagues their dreams and tortures their hopes. They will not risk being caught up in the storm that has been brewing since he stepped onto the pathway leading to the door. He knocks, I listen, he knocks again, I glance briefly at the house which has held me for the past 16 years, he knocks for the last time, and I run to the door. As I reach for the handle I feel my breath shorten and my body goes limp, my strength leaves me and I collapse. The door clicks and the handle turns slowly followed by the sudden rush of air as the rusted hinges creak outward. There he stands, not the angelic figure I had seen through the glass but instead a twisted gargoyle clawing at my soul. Where his shadow should have fallen the mist gathers. I can see faces peering out at me, sending mournful glances. They have been where I am now, they know what will happen and are being forced to witness my misery. But what misery can they see? I feel none. I feel a freedom like nothing before. I own my actions and my thoughts. I am at peace with myself. When I look up at him I see his eyes. Those jaded eyes are liberated me and they quell the bubbling regret I feel as a silent blade slips deeper between my ribs. All around me there is screaming and anguish as hands reach out trying to save the shell that was my body. Nothing can reverse this, the goal has been reached and the finish line crossed. The life well within me ebbs as it flows freely along the hilt of the blade and quietly up to its new master. And my grave read: Here loves the beloved daughter of noble birth. She who felt life was too painful turned to death as her companion. Let it be remembered how loved she was, her future was hopeful. Now as I sit on my throne in the darkness of the abyss I feel no pain nor cold nor heat nor love nor joy. I am nothing but a shadow of the person I was to eventually become in life, ruling this kingdom with an icy heart. Alone in all I do I suffer in this eternity for my decision on that momentous night. He punishes my selfish actions forever now by giving me the power that had only entered into my dreams. Beside me sit the others who thought that delivering that fatal blow would lead them to a palace of rewards and liberty from their living hells. Instead we are all chained side by side, ruling over the beings of the underworld as nothing more than machines. Edited by girl anachronism, Dec 1 2008, 03:47 AM.
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| +Linden | Nov 29 2008, 09:00 PM Post #5 |
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awesomesauce
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You know, I forgot what I my earlier interpretation was. o__o But I really like this! However, I have three suggestions/comments to offer up. 1) Throne, not thrown. 2) Mention you see death standing at the door through the window in the beginning. That way the reader gets a better sense of the distortion. 3) and that's a long epitaph. XD |
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| ** Death's servant | Nov 29 2008, 10:26 PM Post #6 |
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Reflection
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first of all, that is a LONG epitaph. Secondly, I know I commented on it before, but now that you have a conclusion to it: I like the metaphor about suicide you make in it (though it's a rather strange one). I don't in any terms say that suicide is a good thing, but you shed an interesting light on it in this story (though not directly). good writing. |
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| girl anachronism | Nov 30 2008, 07:05 PM Post #7 |
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Try to remember
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When I was writing it my epitaph didn't seem that long.. hehe..oops :D I know not of what you speak Linden. I seen no 'thrown' up there ;) DS...Why do you say that it is such an "interesting" metaphor about suicide? |
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| +Linden | Nov 30 2008, 08:17 PM Post #8 |
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awesomesauce
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Maybe, somehow, you describe hell in the actual plot rather than in the epitaph. And think of something that's short, sweet, and leaves a better lasting impression that sums it all up for the epitaph instead? |
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| girl anachronism | Dec 1 2008, 03:45 AM Post #9 |
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Try to remember
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OH! i see what the problem is! oops. here let me fix it. look at the light blue. |
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| +Linden | Dec 1 2008, 03:58 PM Post #10 |
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awesomesauce
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XD A world of difference a break makes!! |
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| girl anachronism | Dec 1 2008, 07:36 PM Post #11 |
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Try to remember
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Sorry about that. I couldn't figure out what you all were talking about and then i saw what had happened when i moved it from word to this.. oops! Thank you for your suggestions though, very helpful. I may not put the final version on here unless people want me to but i will keep in mind you ideas and fix it up a little more. |
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| ** Death's servant | Dec 1 2008, 08:29 PM Post #12 |
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Reflection
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I mean that you make suicide seem like something desirable (like the visitor is the choice to commit to suicide). You make it look beautiful threw the rosy glass of our romantic fantastical minds, then show the dark, twisted, deformed thing it truly is. Even with the face of this evil revealed the narrator still accepts it with something akin to joy, or epiphany or something. thus I believe it is an interesting metaphor on suicide. |
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| +Linden | Dec 1 2008, 08:42 PM Post #13 |
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awesomesauce
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I don't think that's a metaphor though, it's more like the theme. Though, the more I think about the epitaph the more I think it should be more memorable. Like it should rhyme, emphasizing it from the rest of the prose. |
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| ** Death's servant | Dec 3 2008, 01:59 PM Post #14 |
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Reflection
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I guess theme would be alright. |
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| ** Death's servant | Dec 3 2008, 01:59 PM Post #15 |
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Reflection
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themes usualy have short names though... |
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