Thanks, guys. It was disturbing intentionally. Or at least, kind of intetionally. :P

There's no more of the story as of right now, and I'm not sure there ever will be with that exact scene. The backstory scene it came from was for Sars (Inner City character, for those of you who remember), and I actually started writing her life story for this past year's NaNo. A scene probably similar to this will show up at some point in time. Parts of it just don't exactly fit with her character, though.

so this is my sappy peice of tripe =P it made me cry but yall will prolly laugh


I was a coward. A villain. A murder. A torturer. A bastard. I was all the things that Glenn hurled at me as I ran but if I lived through this than I would be one more thing. Alive. That as all I really wanted. It amazed me how the closer one got to death the more ones priorities fell into order. I would willingly go back on the street just if I could keep breathing one moment longer.
A small cry left my lips as i turned towards the gate and saw a handful of rebels guarding it. I wouldn’t be alive much longer if I made a break for the gate. Perhaps the servants gate that led down to the river would be left unguarded.
"Murderer!" Glenn roared from behind me and I put on a burst of speed as I retraced my steps. Glenn's voice echoed like thunder through my grand empty halls. "Get him!" who else was with Glenn? Who else had betrayed their king?
I leapt over a groaning soldier as I ascended a stairwell this all felt so familiar.

~

“get him! Thief!”
my skinny hand clutched the loaf of bread as though I clung to life itself. I dodged a whore sitting on a street corner and slipped down an alley panting for breath. I came up short as I reached a dead end. Trash and filth was piled up to my knee. The merchant advanced slowly down the dark road, he knew I was cornered, no need to hurry. “help me.” I whimpered as he hefted his stick. “someone... help,” the words escaped my lips like a lame dogs whine.
A door stood halfway between me and the merchant and I rushed to it. Pounding on the door I screamed with all the strength in my lungs. I barely felt the first blow as the merchant struck my shoulder knocking me to the ground. I kept screaming as he beat me into the ground my loaf of bread rolling, discarded. His stick struck indiscriminately hitting me repeatedly on the face, arms, hands and legs. I was going to die. Then it stopped. I could hear voices talking and I tried to lift my head to see what was going on but my right eye was rapidly swelling and I couldn’t roll over to see.
The sound of tramping feet came and I scouted backwards deeper into the junk trying in vain to escape. Someone stomped hard on my leg and I gave a small yelp, pausing in my escape attempt. Whoever had been talking to the merchant bent down and grabbed my hair. He pulled me upright and I caught a glimpse of scruffy beard and an eyeless socket before I fainted.

~

my breath was coming harder now as I ran towards the kitchens.
“murderer!” Glenn yelled.
The man must have the stamina of a whore in a brothel to still be able to yell like that. I glanced back and caught a glimpse of his chain mail and fiery red hair before I rounded the corner and nearly ran into another group of rebels. I turned and collided viciously with Glenn. We rolled on the floor like a pair of school boys each trying to gain the top. I acquired the position first and slammed my fist into his face relishing the feeling of breaking his already crooked nose. He retaliated by gabbing my hair and bringing his head up in a fierce headbutt. Slightly dazed I rolled off of him and staggered away.

~

everything was ready for my 'Daddy’s' return. The table was set, the bed was made. I had even poured his favorite glass of liquor for him. I positioned myself on the corner of the table legs slightly spread. The chill of the stone house against my naked skin made me shiver but I forced myself to be still, I had to wait.
“you'll see, he's beautiful.” Daddy came through the door first, the shadow of a man behind him. He stood that way for a moment, framed in the doorway his head turned. I couldn’t wait any longer. Taking the knife off the table I stood and rushed to meet him. He grunted slightly as the knife slipped in and he turned his head slowly to stare at me oddly before he staggered . I pulled the knife out and stabbed in and out in a frenzy, the hot blood rushing out over my naked body covering me. I barely felt it as the guest pulled me off of him, I continued to stab. The man disarmed me and threw me into the corner effortlessly. I could see his guards uniform but I didn't care. Daddy wouldn't hurt me anymore.

~

I felt like vomiting as I neared the stairwell. Glenn was so close behind me I could hear every breath he gasped.

~

“It feels good right?” one of the men was laughing at me as I lapped up the cool water from the stream. Not ten minutes escaped and free and already we had found fresh water.
“you do realize the king would take our hands to find us hunting out here.” one of the other escapees looked nervously around.
“screw the king.” I said loudly.
They looked t me startled. Years at the quarry had toughed my body and made my mind sharper. It was I who had led the escape and I had big plans for our little group. “some day we'll go back and we'll be the kings then! Right Glenn?” I turned to my best friend.
“right on.” he said winking roguishly at me.

~

I made it to the stairs and began to climb them two at a time.

~

blood trickled in rivulets down my back. They were gone for another day but I was not so foolish as to hope them gone for good. How could he? Rex was understandable he always had something of a shifty air about him but how could Glenn have betrayed me, betrayed us? I shifted in my chains and heard the soft clinking noise of keys. Were they back already?
“there he is!” one of the men from the camp came into my field of vision. “Mordred! Are you in there? Hang on we're here to get you.”
“I'm fine, get me down.” I snapped. “how many did you get in?” I asked as he worked on the chains.
“we have thirty in the castle grounds and another twenty in the keep. If we liberate the band they captured we should have enough to break you out.”
I dropped into a ungraceful heap on the floor as the chains came undone. “no, we stay and fight! We can take the keep. We have the element of surprise and I heard that the army was out on maneuvers. Now is our chance!”

~

I cam out on top to see the fires had spread to the rest of the castle. That which wasn't stone was burning brightly. The wind blew fiercely feeding the fires and bringing with it the promise of rain. That was good, the whole village wouldn’t burn. It was a curious thing that here I was still plotting and planning about to die. A weight on my head reminded me of my crown still tangled in my hair. I pulled it off ignoring the sharp pain as chunks of my hair tugged free with it. I tossed it off the edge of the battlements and watched as it shone briefly before vanishing from view. Let some guard enjoy the gold.
“I found you.” Glenn panted.
“how observant” I turned and fought to regulate my breath as well. Such a pity that each one was numbered. Really they had all been, from the moment of my birth I was a dead man. We all were.
“I wont let you kill anyone else murderer!” Glenn pointed his sword at me.
I shook my head sadly, “it was never about the killing Glenn. The king stood in my way and had to be removed.”
“and Rex? He was your friend!” Glenn yelled.
“Was, before you betrayed me to the king.” I narrowed my eyes.
“what you were doing was wrong! You're a traitor!”
“I am king, how can a king be a traitor?” I laughed.
Glenn spat, “you are a false king on a throne of straw. your reign was a decade of blood and terror and it ends now!” he leveled his sword at me and advanced slowly.
I shrugged, “I support those that support me. If my men kill then so be it, that's what I pay them for.”
“your stalling.”
“you aren't striking.” I allowed myself a small smile. Glenn would kill me. I knew this, the question was simply when.
He roared and lunged forward swinging his sword in a swift downward chop. I dodged sideways and raised my arm defensively. The blade slid down my forearm neatly paring the flesh from bone and glancing off my elbow. I used my undamaged arm to smash into his face. One of my bejeweled rings stabbed him in the eye and he backed off clutching it. The respite was but for a moment, the man was running on sheer adrenaline and nerves. he swung again and I ducked. Hearing the blade clatter against the battlement I slammed my body sideways pinning the sword against the stone I lashed out with my foot and kicked him backwards separating him from the sword.
It began to rain.

~

Rex smiling at me beating Glenn in a wrestling match.

~

I blinked and shook my head. The warmth of my blood dripping down my leg from my arm contrasted harshly with the cold of the rain.

~

the smell of the campfires as our little band of rebels plotted changing the world.

~

The smoke was rising in great billowing clouds from the village but the sounds of the fighting had all but disappeared from the castle. It was once again unnaturally still like when I had first killed the king. “all hail the king.” I murmured as I advanced on Glenn. I should have bent to pick up the sword. I should have stayed with my back to something. I should never have become king.
Glenn tackled me and pinned me to ground with his hand on my injured arm. His fist came out of nowhere and smashed into my face repeatedly. Oddly enough his hair looked different. Less red and more black. “Rex?” I mumbled through a mouth full of shattered teeth.
Glenn paused and I took the opportunity to roll from under him. I was suddenly thinking much clearer now, perhaps I had finally caught my breath. I staggered to the edge and scrambled up onto it. Glenn sat frozen as he stared at me. “I wept for Rex you bastard.” I whispered as I stepped off the edge.
As I fell I twisted to see the whole town and castle beneath me. Only one thing went through my head before I hit the ground. “Be a good king Glenn.” I died with a smile on my lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That which does not feel pain is dead.

Okay, so bear with me here, because I’ve wanted to write a death scene like this for a while, but just never got around to it. It’s the death of a mentally disturbed serial killer. Enjoy, lol.


It was a chair. I tried to comfort myself in this, remembering my Grandmother’s rocking chair and how she would read to me as I sat on the rug captivated with her heroic stories. I had always admired the hero, perhaps I was one in another life. Yet I was destined for a sinister path, never to be the hero of childhood stories. But that didn’t bother me anymore for I had embraced my destiny. I was the villain. Openly, all of the mindless rabble hated me, yet I knew it was only because of envy and contempt that they scorned my way of life. Give a man a taste of power and he would forsake his morals in an instant to retain it. The quest for power drives a man to extents he would never dream of, but extents that he would go to again and again. I love power.

It was a throne. My throne. I could do whatever I pleased for the three minutes and twenty-four seconds I would occupy the seat. The entire world cheered as I was given this place of power, grateful that the likes of me would have this once in a lifetime opportunity. Oh how I would sneer at them while I sat there, having no regret for the seven “innocent” women I had graciously given new life. Seven was the perfect number, and I had obtained perfection. I had slowly and methodically calculated how to release each girl’s spirit from her body, using the most gruesome yet endearing means available. I had complete power over them. I love power.

It was freedom. No longer would I be trapped inside of this disgusting facade of flesh. Just as I had done for each of my ladies so now would be done for me. The release of my spirit was not a day I to be feared, but a day for jubilation. Sadly, I would quickly pass from this life to the next, for a justice system that decreed a “swift and speedy death” was what I was under. How pathetic. At least give me the power to determine my own method of release.

It was an event. An event that was celebrated by the entire nation. I was treated like royalty, with my own escort to follow me as I paraded through streets one last time. Reporters hounded me like jackals for a comment, but I was too good for them. With my head held high I took my last breath of the polluted city air before being ushered into a room where thirty people awaited my final speech.

It was painless. When the needles puncture my arm I grin, the moment had come. As my organs begin to fail due to the poison rushing through my veins I give one last triumphant laugh. They think they’ve won, but they have only succeeded in re-birthing me, giving me one more opportunity for power. With death comes life, and with life come power. I love power.

I love death.

Whoa... creepy, Sul.





A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people- Thomas Mann




My writing blog: [aspiringpen.blogspot.com]

I know it's late, but I've had the flu, and just got over it...can I still submit? :(

shoot for it meg!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That which does not feel pain is dead.

...can I rework a scene from Var and my Space Monkey story? Only it's the only part of the story that's written and it's spoilerific for anyone who actually wants to read the story. I am conflicted. :(

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A word is not the same with one writer as with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.
~Charles Peguy

thx, Shalli. I know this is uber late. :P


A sick, scared feeling clenched around my stomach. What if she wasn’t here? The fear kept growing, and I raced down the hall to find Jordian.

He was in his usual place. In the library, reading something.
“What did you do with her?!”

He looked up at me and smiled. “Cintan, my dear, have a seat, there’s no reason to be upset.”

I glared over the table at the slimy son of a gutter worm, and imagined what the bones in his neck would feel like crunching beneath my hands.

“You made me a promise, Jordian! Where is she?! Where is Csilla?”

“We sent her home.”

I felt like I was living in a dream…“Home? Back to our home!?”

“Yes. Back to the lower city.”

My hands were shaking too badly to throw my knife at him, but I grabbed it off my belt anyway. I tried to yell at the devil, but my voice had suddenly grown hoarse, and it cracked. “You mean to tell me…that after our deal, you sent my wife home, and let me unleash this plague onto her and the rest of the city?”

“Yes,” he said coolly. “But you’re alive and well, and so are your sister, and your half-wit niece. Consider yourself fortunate.”

“Fortunate?! Because of you, my wife is out there dying! You promised that my family would be safe!”

“As a political opponent, your wife was not in the running for preservation. Nothing could change that. You are dismissed.”

“You killed my wife, I’ll kill you.”

“You kill me; the rest of your family gets killed.”

“I hate you, Jordian! I hate you!” I felt a couple of his guards grab my arms and start to drag me away from him, but I had to struggle…I had to kill him… “I hate you!!”

“Goodbye, Cintan.”

“The Devil saves the hottest place of hell for people like you!”



“What are you doing?!”

I cringed as I felt my sister’s hand on my shoulder. “I’m packing…” I said softly.

“You’re what!”

I turned to look at her. “Csilla is out there, Myll. And she’s probably dying now. And it’s my fault.”

My sister looked up at me with shocked, frightened eyes. “But what can you do?” she asked. “Where are you going?!”

“I’m going to be with her.”

“You’re killing yourself? They won’t let you back into the compound! You’ll die!”

“I’ll die if I don’t…” I whispered. “She is my life, my heart… You and Jalley will live. You’ll have a chance to sing again, and maybe the world will be better. I hope so.” I wrapped my arms around my sister and held her tightly as she cried. “I’ve spoken to Cain. He’s a good man and he’ll take care of you if you need it.”

“How is the world going to be a better place if you’re not in it?”

“I’m glad you love me, Myll, but I don’t actually make the world that much better of a place. Kiss Jalley for me.”

“This doesn’t fix anything.”

“But it might pay for it. The man who unleashed the Scourge dies at its hands? I want to die with my wife, sister. Please.”
Myll pulled away from me crying. “Don’t you know you’re being selfish?” she asked. “We need you here, and we’ll need you for a lot longer.”

“Maybe I know that…” I said slowly. “But I also know that no one created in God’s image should have to die alone. I love you. Goodbye.”



The guard at the blast doors was hard to convince, but when the noise outside lulled for a few minutes, and I gave him the right amount of reward, he agreed to let me out.

The minute the outside air hit me, so did the horrible smell of rotting flesh and the cries of the dying. What had I done? Trying not to think about it, I took off down the streets. I had to get home before Csilla died. The plague could kill in anywhere from eight to twenty four hours, which meant she could have as little as an hour left to live.

As I went deeper downtown things got worse. There were a few looters, running around, but who cares about riches when they’re going to die within hours?

Finally, I got to my and Csilla’s shop. The smithy below was empty, but maybe she’d be upstairs in the apartment…

“Csilla?!” I called. No one answered. I ran up the stairs and looked in the bedroom. Empty. I looked in the closet, the little sitting room, and the attic. All empty. Would I not even be able to say goodbye?

“Csilla!” I called again, this time louder. I raced down the stairs, and out in the streets calling her name more. But the streets were empty too. The taverns were closed.

“Cintan?” Her voice was ravaged and cracked, but I knew it. I whirled around and saw her slumped over in the alley. Her beautiful, dark hair was wet and muddy, and she was shivering.

“Csilla, I’m so sorry…” I said as I ran to her.

“I was so scared…” she whispered. “Where were you?”

“Shhhh, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “All that matters is that I’m here now, and I am not leaving again.”

I gathered her up into my arms and sat down with her. Fresh tears of my own welled up as I saw her face. Her skin was cracked and blistered by the disease, and mottled with the characteristic bruising, but she was smiling at me.

I unzipped my bag and drew out the needle I’d made sure to pack. “I brought you something for pain,” I said. “Hold still, all right?”

She nodded, and sighed as I injected the morphine into her wrist. “I’m glad you found me…” she said. “I love you.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck and held on tight. I smiled and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her lips. “I’m glad I found you too. I love you.”

“I think I’m sick…”

“I think so too…let’s just sit here for a while, aye?”

“Aye.”

A soft breeze wafter over us, and she shivered. I grabbed my blanket out of the sack and wrapped it around the both of us.

“Cintan?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“I can’t hold on anymore…”

Her arms started to slip from around my neck, and I felt panic and more tears rising up inside me. “It’s ok…” I said, pulling her closer. “I’ll hold on for the both of us.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. “Would you sing to me?” she asked.

“You know I can’t sing.”

“I just want to hear your voice.”

I tried to sing a lullabye, but my voice wouldn’t do it. “I can’t…” I said, through the sobs.

“Cintan, are you afraid?”

“Yes, very.”

“Don’t be. Tomorrow is beautiful.”

“What?”

She gave me a strange look; her eyes were focusing on my face, but also looking right through me. “I can see tomorrow!” she said. “And Tomorrow is beautiful.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

"I love you too, I started to say, but I'm not sure if she heard me. Because just then, I felt the breath leave her body.

So, I’m sitting here. Holding on for the both of us till death do us part. And I sure hope tomorrow is beautiful. But I'm scared.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frodo: I can't do this, Sam.

Sam: I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?

Sam: That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.



Edited 3 times. Last edit at 02/19/11 06:28PM by Meg.

Awww, Meg.... :'(





A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people- Thomas Mann




My writing blog: [aspiringpen.blogspot.com]

So this isn't actually a death scene, but it's kind of an aftermath, so hopefully that works too.

Sinni wasn’t surprised when her mother died. It was just sort of an odd time. She’d been behind the tavern eating strawberries with Samuel Smith from down the road. He told her she was pretty in the sunlight, and she’d twirled her hair in her fingers and said, “Do you really think so?” rather coyly.

She was just learning to be coy, mainly from watching the ladies in other parts of the cities with their curled hair and pretty clothes. She was rather lacking in the clothing department, but her hair curled as much as theirs on its own, and she was sure there’s wasn’t entirely natural.

Then Samuel said he liked strawberries, and she said she did too, and and they ate a few more of the red berries, and then a few minutes he kissed her on the mouth.

It wasn’t technically her first kiss, but it was the first one that really seemed to matter. Ander hadn’t been entirely willing when she kissed him when she was five, and Jonathan just sort of kissed her and ran off - he certainly hadn’t told her she was pretty.

When Samuel pulled away, she smiled at him and asked if he’d like to kiss her again. He did - and then the door of the tavern opened and Jack walked out and said, “Sinni!” in a rather short voice that made her turn around quickly. “Come away from the boy. You’re mother’s dead.”

She blinked a few times without entirely processing what he said. She looked at him, looked at Samuel, and then said, “I have to go,” and started for the tavern.

Inside, the tavern seemed dark and dusty. She wanted to be back outside, in the sunlight. She didn’t like the tavern in the day. At night, it was lit up and sort of festive feeling but not in the day. The men who drank in the day always seemed sadder than the ones at night.

“She must have just passed in her sleep, real quiet like,” Jack said, leading her to the staircase. She followed him up and down the hall, to the room she shared with her mother. “I suppose you’ll want a moment alone with her,” Jack said.

She stared at him wordlessly and didn’t say that no, she didn’t want a moment alone with her. She’d scarcely had a moment alone with her mother while she was alive; why should she want one now that she was dead?

But he’d already opened the door, and she stood inside, staring at the woman on the bed. She heard the door shut behind her. She glanced at it once and then took a few steps forward, fists clenched at her sides.

Her mother was pale. She’d been pale for weeks. More than weeks. Sinni wasn’t sure she really remembered her ever not being pale. She was always pale and tired and working. She was always kind, Sinni supposed. She’d never yelled. Samuel’s mother yelled at him all the time. Sinni hardly saw her mother, but she wasn’t like that, at least.

She took in a few breaths and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her mother’s tired face. “Maybe it’s a good thing,” she breathed. She felt odd more than anything. She didn’t feel like crying. She thought she ought to cry; her mother had just died, after all. She’d never see talk to her again. It was just that...she usually talked to her mother ten minutes a day at most. Some days not at all. It wasn’t as if it would be very different.

But she had to be a horrible daughter for thinking that. There had to be something terribly wrong with her. She was selfish, that was it. Jack had told her so on numerous occasions. He said - he said she was selfish and spoiled and ridiculous. She always said she couldn’t possibly be spoiled when she didn’t even have any nice clothes, but he’d just rolled his eyes at her, and she guessed he was right now, because she wasn’t even crying when her mother died.

She started feeling afraid then, more than anything else, and she could feel her heart quicken and then each breath was a gasp for air, and oh it was dark in the room - hopelessly, smotheringly dark. The curtains were closed, and it was just dark and dust and her mother lying there dead, and she couldn’t take it anymore - she ran to the window and pulled the curtain so hard it ripped off the rack and the whole cloth fell on top of her, and she thrashed until it was off of her and then stood there, at the window.

She pressed her forehead against it and looked out at the sunlight. Samuel was still in the back yard, with the strawberries. Maybe if she asked him to kiss her again, she’d feel a bit better. She doubted it. But it was worth a try, anyway.