View Full Version : Prose
29th December 2003, 06:52
I think we should have a prose thread with a simple name. Don't tell me it's been done before, if it has, I don't care, 'Prose' is a nice short simple name and I think it's good.
Alida gets buffeted in the stomach and sprawls out in the red dust, her fingers clutching to find some kind of grip to slow her slipping. Friction eventually stops her hurled body, and she scrambles upright, only to receive three sharp hits in quick succession, two to her legs, buckling them, and one to her face, snapping her neck to the side and causing her to fall down once more... She slowly picks herself up, her body sore and wracked with dull pain as new bruises form, and is immediately hit in the stomach and kicked in the abdomen, which sends her crashing to earth yet again.
She spits out a tooth and clutches at the ground, heaving herself upright, and when half erect, her head is stepped on, causing her to choke and swallow and breathe in dust. She cries out for mercy, she can't take this batterment much longer, but her cries are drowned out as she is kicked while still lying on the ground.
Her cries for deliverance don't seem to reach any ears. She takes a sharp kick to the chin, snapping her head backwards and making her whimper, a tiny sound, pleading for mercy. She attempts to get up again, sustaining heavy blows to the back of her head just to stand up. She wavers, her knees buckle, and she lands on her wrists. Her soft sobs remain unheard as she drags herself to her feet again. She gently sways as she stands and tries to stagger off.
She screams, feeling as if she's prey being stalked, like a deer being bled to death at the paws of a vicious starving cougar. She trips, scrabbling with her fingers, breaking a nail, yelping softly as it breaks to the quick. Her fingers grasp at material, and she senses something warm and steady beneath it, so she holds onto it with the crook of her arm, twisting her aching neck around to see the source of her pain. She recieves a kick to the face, causing a large drop of crimson to leak from her nose.
She whimpers and draws herself into a tight ball around the leg of whomever it is. She looks up, and her muscles of her neck give out, causing her head to drop heavily onto the sandy earth. Her cap flips backwards slightly, and she looks past the raging sunlight into the dark eyes and even darker hair of a tall... Man? Boy? Who knows? She swallows tightly, a knot in her throat, and sobs with fear as she takes kicks to her back and neck.
She won't let go now, she can't anyways, her muscles locked up and her nerves slowly bleeding out their sensitivity, her mind losing grip with every kick and punch her body takes. She doesn't notice if bones break or muscles shatter or rip, just holds fast to whomever's this leg belongs to.
30th December 2003, 20:40
That's a great idea White Raveness...
Very detailed climax and riveting motions that drives this story to the end.
3rd January 2004, 00:50
This is my preliminary version of a scene from a story my friend Andy made up, called "Anubis' Child." It is set in a futuristic metropolis, and exaggerates the oppression of religion. The story deals with a girl named Ariel, who gets messages from an ancient god, Anubis. She fights to have her voice heard, and to stop the ruthless Crusaders from shoving religion down people's throats.
(No offense meant to Catholics at all here, it's a made up story.)
She ran through the rain-slickened street, her feet making a wet scritching sound as she pushed off from the pavement... They were after her and she knew it. After her, to wipe her mind, her ideas. They'd tried it once, but He'd given them all back to her. His soft voice and guidance had driven her to speak out against the oppression.
So they'd sent them after her.
The messengers of the 'Son.'
The doers of 'Right.'
She turned a sharp corner into a darkened alley, scrambled atop a kleersteel dumpster, and over the alley's wall. Despite the futuristic possibilities, such old things as alleys existed... She could hear the sounds of their feet approaching, her breathing quickened.
She finally raised one hand to the sky and closed her eyes.
"Anubis," She asked, her voice low so their extended microphones couldn't pick it up. Not much use anyways, they'd be within 40 yards soon enough.
"Your child asks for guidance."
A resoning thunder rippled overhead, and a thick sheet of rain poured down from the sky. She was drenched within seconds, the silver rain creating a wall around her. But, for some reason, she could see.
"Thank you, Anubis." She whispered, and tore off down the street again for cover.
"PAGAN FILTH!!" A harsh, grating voice shrieked from above. She cussed in dismay, one had found her.
"Time to die, you WRETCHED FILTH! Denying the word of GOD!!"
A seeming ball of slashing blades fell from the corner of a building. She dodged and flipped in mid-air, her agility enhanced by microchips implanted in the back of her neck. She twisted in a roundhouse kick, smacking the man in bladed armour in his jaw. A sickening crack issued forth and a high pitched gurgle, and the pale man's jaw skittered across the floor.
She continued to run. Where there was one streak of shit on the floor, a lump was sure to be nearby.
She swallowed, her throat muscles tightened.
Six men, bearing long golden guns, which looked like they packed a punch, bore large golden crosses emblazoned on their chestplates.
"Ohhh boy..." She muttered, slowly backstepping.
"Another move, and you'll be a dirty piece of Pagan ash left on the ground."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Who are you to tell me what I should believe? Who do you think you are? You can't command my goddamn mind! It's my mind! And He speaks to ME!" She shrieked, her rage rippling through her.
The men were silent, but one snickered and spat on the ground.
"He, talk to you? Stupid child."
"Not your fucking fabrications, moron! Anubis speaks to me!" She snapped.
"It's of no use. Idiots are incapable of learning. Come at me, I dare you. I will escape."
One of the men laughed, and spurted forward. He was immediately met with six kicks in quick succession to his legs, breaking both of them in eight places. He whimpered and fell to the earth.
"Wish for more?"
A massive blast of Pulsar energy answered her question. She narrowed her eyes, and she flickered and disappeared to the five remaining men.
"What the...!? Where'd she --"
He didn't live to finish the sentence, a shrieking cry of 'Let me escape!' was the last thing he heard, as his neck was twisted violently. He could feel the feet holding his head, he could feel as his neck twisted, but he could see no legs. No matter. He was dead before he hit the ground.
She flickered and appeared once more, only to be seen hopping away from the bodies, and the four other men. She had managed to escape, and as darkness prematurely fell, she knew Anubis was helping her. She eventually ducked into the shack she called home. It was almost a joke they hadn't found her. She lived in the backyard of a dilapidated house, right in the middle of the city. Right underneath their noses.
21st January 2004, 05:16
All he could remember was the smell of his wife's hair and the feel of grass under his palms. He remembered thier kiss, under the shade of the old Oak by Thompson's farm.
But the sky above him was not blue, but a soulless black, and the capsule under him was floating aimlessly from Earth.
He wanted to scream, but no one would hear. He was still high on oxygen, his CO2 levels were fine. There was no reason to believe that he couldn't last for a few hours with this strange unique burden. He tried to turn but there was nothing to turn with. He tried to twist around but only set himself into spinning in cirlces, doing endless cartwheels.
He shouted now, struggled against the spin, which was nauseating him.
He tried to think again of his wife, laying on the soft grass in the long hot summer not even a year ago. Her soft red hair. The green eyes that were so alive they seemed as if they danced in the dark waters of some emerald ocean. On thier wedding day he had sung her "Julia", the same song he sang when he proposed to her, the same song he sang when he met her.
He felt sadness wash over him like a sick and creeping wave,and who could blame him, floating away from his ship, irretrivable, lost into the vast void of space. Out he spun, beginning to cry.
She had been a friend of a friend of a friend, and he had only agreed to the date because he had heard she was a knockout. He felt shallow at this and had never told her that he was just out for a quick lay the night he had met her.
But when they finally met, someone left a firecracker where his brain had been. He stumbled a hello, and could do nothing but watch those eyes dance as they looked him over. They were introduced and he suddenly felt a song.
Half of what I say is meaningless
But I say it just to reach you, Julia
Julia, Julia, oceanchild, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Julia, seashell eyes, windy smile, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering,
In the sun
Julia, Julia, morning moon, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
When I cannot sing my heart
I can only speak my mind, Julia
Julia, sleeping sand, silent cloud, touch me
So I sing a song of love, Julia
Hum hum hum hum...calls me
So I sing a song of love for Julia.
He sang the whole thing in front of a good friend and drinking buddy, his haphazard date who was half-drunk before they even got to the restaurant, and Julia. She dropped her eyes and blushed with a smile, and then looked up at him with those sparkling eyes and he fell into them.
Tears dripped down his face as he floated out into nothingness. He was low on Oxygen, high on Carbon Dioxide. There was a little sound beeping in his helmet, and he could feel his lungs beginning to sag.
A tear trickled from his face and he began to sing
Half of what I say is meaningless....
21st January 2004, 05:37
She sat on the bench, watching the people pass by on the pathway across the campus. From under her black cap, she could only see with one eye, her vision obscured in the left. She looked out with a somber, quiet expression, music softly playing.
No movement betrayed her state of living, except for quiet, imperceptible breaths she took, watching the cropped blades of grass quiver unnaturally in the bitter breeze.
Indeed, she felt like that grass. Should be long and swaying, but something always managed to slash her down when she almost reached what she wanted to be... What was programmed, it seemed, written deep within her brain in the innermost instincts.
Beside the almost insatiable primal ones, of course.
The flow of people ebbed and died away as the minutes eroded away, and she was left sitting on the bench, still unmoving. A breeze blew by, fluttering the fur on the collar of her jacket, and the piece of her hair that hung out from her hat.
It was a bitter chill, she noticed. She could smell the earth, too, that subtle sweet smell that occurred when it was certain to rain. She felt it on her skin, she felt it hanging thick in the air. Hanging, as if someone had dropped a fully soaked towel onto a hook. She narrowed her eye as if out of spite.
A thin call made itself audible. It was a shriek almost, but thin, and full of freedom. It was a voice of an unspoiled, unclouded spirit. The first movement in an hour took its place upon her, and she found herself looking up into the sky.
She blinked, a tiny movement, as a soft piano played in her head from the CD player. She caught the movement high above her, and watched a falcon, shriek above again.
It seemed like a call to her, and she could almost feel herself give all her thoughts to the beautiful, free creature. A child of the wind if she ever saw one. She took in the sight, it wheeling and dipping amongst the misery. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
"Fly swift," She whispered. "Tell him I'm here."
January 20th, 2004
21st January 2004, 17:48
He stood outside the coffee shop sipping french vanilla cappucinos and watched the world go by him. Yet in his mind it seem to slow to a crawl like a pendulum swinging to a 40 beats per minute. And as he examined everything in slow motion, to the finest detailing on the wall across the street, telephone numbers etched in yellow chalk with the names scrawled on them: Lee, Alida, and Ethan.
Who were these three people? He had no idea where they existed in this parallel universe. All he knew was that the numbers meant something, tell-tale sign of the next path he'll journey to.
Walking across the street in this slow world, avoiding the speeding cars as he shuffled by, he smoothed out the numbers but they soon began to disappear and fade leaving only the names.
Something wasn't right, sensing that the world behind him was slowly drifting away, he began to retrack his previous steps back to the coffee house. But the building was growing more distant and only a black void filled within and all around him, swallowing him up whole.....just falling..into oblivion..and right into a white light.
He awoke to distant chatter, but he couldn't move. He tried calling for help, yet no one was around to hear him. Realizing he was bound by tubes and a breathing apparatus, he was in a hospital.
The door opened a nurse came in with jello and sat by him,
"What year is this?", he demanded, "Where am I?"
"Please calm down sir, I'm Alida," said the nurse, "it's 2005 and we're so glad you awoke from your coma"
"COMA!! My god what the fuck happened to me!", he panicked.
"Mr. Bronson, please calm down. You were walking across the street and got struck by a bus."
Another doctor came in with a over joyous woman.
"Hi, I'm Lee, your psychologist. You took quite a beating and well your head isn't in check"
"Dr. Lee, who's is she?" asked Bronson.
When the woman heard it, she bursted in tears and ran out the room with Nurse Alida trying to calm her down.
"That's your wife Ethan, Mr. Bronson. You're were out for more than a year and just waking up. Right now we hope for a wonderful recovery," Dr. Lee assured.
What you guys think? I haven't written prose in years...
22nd January 2004, 02:28
I like yours Arcane. I did have to read it twice, but it was good.
It was cold.
The cloudless sky spread itself across the horizon in an unending blue. The wind was heavy here, and the boardwalk that snaked itself along the beach was gray in the morning light. Shadows were long and the snow that lay on the wooden path blew into great drifts along the ******s edges.
Atlantic City was never known for the winter. It craved the love of four thousand feet on it's street, eight thousand on its beaches. It wanted warm skies and braying gulls, bikinis and laughter. It wanted music and air conditioning and towels laid on it beaches to hold up soccer moms. But from where Atlantic City was standing, Summer seemed a long way off.
The dunes, spiked with the talons of shoregrass and tiny fences tied together with thin wire, were dinosaurs awaiting the end of thier slumber along the walk. A few straggling gulls floated in the sky, watching the ground for crabs and old hot dog wrappers that had been long gone for what seems like eons.
Ice coated the waves as they crashed upon the sand. Long blocks of broken ice lined the tideline and littered the way to the high water mark like invading soldiers.
But somewhere along this shore, not all was this serene. There was a long streak of red that drifted into the ocean and it's milky blue. The line was frozen further up beach, and eventually, the line became wider. Finally, at the end, lay a grey body who's eyes lay open as the rest of it is covered in snow. It's eyes lay open as if it was still watching the person who had ended thier usefulness, ending thier reason for being. Silently they cried for help. The gulls cried thier condolences as the sun slowly rose up from the water.
22nd January 2004, 03:17
Hehehehe, Nurse Alida! Hahahah, How perfect!
29th January 2004, 15:54
Behind Close Doors by Lee
Rachel and Veronica were finishing their work for the day. Meeting at the elevator, they talked about their plans for the evening.
"So Rache, you gonna meet me at the new club tonight?"
"I can't tonight V. Bill and I have plans tonight, dinner and a movie. We're gonna see Queen of the Damned".
"Yeah, I wanna see that too. But tonight, I'm gonna check out that new club in the factory district. A place called The Dungeon."
"The Dungeon? Sounds a little kinky."
"I certainly hope so."
As they passed through the front doors of the building, they said their good-byes and went their separate ways.
It was 9:30 by the time Veronica was dressed and ready. She was wearing a snug fitting latex mini skirt and matching halter. Her black onyx and sterling silver dangle earrings, and her open toed stiletto heels completed the ensemble. Her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, the lustrous sheen capturing the light. She looked in the mirror one last time before she left. Pleased with her appearance, she was now ready for a night of partying.
Once in the parking garage, she hopped into her car, dropped it into first and laid rubber as she left. It took twenty minutes for her to get to the factory district, and she had no problem finding The Dungeon. As she drove past, she saw that a line was beginning to form outside, eager patrons waiting to enter. She quickly found a parking spot and walked to the front of the line. Standing in front of the door was a burly man. By the look of him, one could question the validity of Darwin's theories of evolution.
"Scuse me Miss, but the line starts back there," the bouncer told her, pointing down the line of people patiently waiting to get in.
"I'm sorry. Here, does this make a difference?" Veronica reached into her bag and pulled out a VIP pass.
"Scuse me. Please, come on in."
Passing through the doors she entered the night club. She could immediately hear the muffled sound of music coming from the club's entertainment area. Straight ahead were two sets of double doors for handling the anticipated crowds. To the right was an area for checking coats, and to the left was a door marked private. As she passed through the double doors the roar of the music was loud and clear.
At the opposite end of the room was an elevated stage for the band. Tonight's head-liner was a new band named Lick My Shorts, a metal band with punk lyrics. The room was already crowded. Directly in front of the stage was an area for slam dancing and a mash pit. There were two full length bars on each side of the room and the balance of the floor was occupied by tables. The tables resembled smaller versions of the rack and were fully functional, stretching to accommodate more patrons. In the center of the tables were candle holders that resembled "the pear," a torture device originally designed to be inserted into a variety of orifices.
The entire ambience of the club revolved around the motif of a genuine dungeon. In one corner stood a realistic iron maiden, complete with rubber spikes. In the center was a "Judas Cradle," a device designed to be a real pain in the ass. From the ceiling hung cages that resembled whirligigs, another device of torture, that when spun quickly causes its victims to lose their lunch. In another corner sat a realistic chair of spikes. It was so realistic, a warning was posted that patrons shouldn't try it. Mounted on the walls were various other implements of torture, the branks, the cat's paw, the headcrusher and the wheel. All of these items when properly used in their time caused excruciating pain or death. Even the swizzle sticks resembled a device used for torture, the Heretic's Fork.
The walls and ceiling were painted black and a foggy mist circulated throughout the room. The bartenders were dressed in black hooded robes and the waitresses resembled bar wenches. Everything about The Dungeon was designed to give the visiting patron a feeling of stepping back in time.
Walking up to the bar, Veronica ordered a Cosmopolitan. Within moments she was handed her cocktail. She turned to observe the audience and settle in. Across the room, she noticed a figure standing in the shadows. In the darkness, it was difficult for her to make out any of their features, but she could tell by their posture that he was a man with long blond hair, and she could sense that he was looking at her.
Veronica turned to place her glass on the bar. When she turned back to the audience, the man was now standing in the middle of the room. He was young, perhaps thirty years old, and she could tell that he had a medium build. The man was dressed in a pair of black trousers, with a white shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his chest.
As he got closer, his sense of presence became stronger. She could feel his essence reach into her soul, overpowering her with his mind. He seemed to glide over the floor as he moved closer to her. Within seconds he was standing next to her.
"Good evening. My name is Derek, and yours is?"
"My name is Veronica. My friends call me V."
"Pleasure to meet you V. Is this your first time at The Dungeon?"
"Yeah. I heard about it when I received a VIP pass in the mail. I thought I'd come down and check it out."
"So, what do you think about my little club?"
"This is your club? I think it's totally awesome! It must have taken a long time to get it to look like this. You really gave a lot of attention to detail."
"Thank you. Yes, this is my club, and my partner's that is."
They talked for quite some time, getting to know each other. Veronica was taken by his charm and mannerisms, and she was very attracted to him. She could herself becoming aroused by him, and she sensed that he could tell. If he wanted her, she could be his.
It was two in the morning. Veronica had been there for almost four hours and several cocktails. She felt very comfortable with Derek, and he certainly enjoyed her company. Finally, he suggested that they go upstairs to the private quarters. He told her that there was an apartment above the club that he occupied.
Taking her by the hand, he escorted her across the dance floor to where he had been standing when she first saw him. Reaching for the wall, he placed his hand in a small recess. Touching something hidden from view, a small section of the wall slid out of the way. An opening appeared the size of a doorway, and he motioned for her to pass through it. When they were inside, the entrance closed behind them. She could see a curved stairway that was softly illuminated by candles set in medieval torches. Leading the way, he took her up the stairs into a large living area.
"This is my place. The hidden stairway allows me to come and go as I please, totally unnoticed."
"What a sharp idea... Do you use it often?"
"All the time. May I fix you another Cosmopolitan?"
Derek stepped behind the bar in his apartment and fixed her another cocktail and poured himself a Remy Martin. As she watched him fix their drinks, it occurred to her that she never saw him drink while he downstairs. She remembered his snifter being filled twice, but she couldn't recall him ever raising the glass to his lips.
When he was finished he walked over and handed her the drink, his vibrant blues eyes looking deeply into her soul, and she was mesmerized by his gaze. Slowly he reached up with his hand and caressed her cheek. Slipping his fingers behind her head, he pulled her closer, kissing her softly on the lips.
Veronica slowly extended her tongue, lightly touching his soft lips. With Veronica's tongue against his lips, he parted his mouth, kissing the tip. He could feel his arousal growing in his pants and slowly slid his hand down her back to unfasten the halter. She encouraged his advances when she placed her hand on his now throbbing member. Derek unfastened the halter and allowed it to fall between them to the floor.
He placed his hands on her ample breasts, gently caressing her soft skin. Her nipples responded immediately becoming hard and taut. With her hand on his crotch she began to massage his cock, feeling the size of his bulge through his pants.
Their kiss became deeper, more intimate as they opened their mouths, accepting each other's tongues in a serpentine dance. She let go of his bulge, and with both hand grabbed his shirt ripping it open, the buttons flying through the air. Placing her hands on his chest, she slid them over his nipples, increasing his state of arousal.
Taking her by the hands he led her to the bed. Setting her down on the mattress, she laid back. He reached down to the side of her skirt, unfastening the clasp and taking hold of the zipper. Unzipping her skirt, he took hold of the latex material and slid it down her luscious legs. Looking up at him, clad only in a thong bikini, she beckoned him to remove it. Bending over, he placed his hands on the side of her hips and began to slide the thong down the length of her legs.
He stared at heavens door, the neatly trimmed pussy glistening with wetness. She sat up and placed her hands on his pants. Unfastening the front of his trousers, she pulled the down. With his pants down around his ankles, he stepped out them and his shoes at the same time.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gently pushed her back on the bed. Taking each leg one at a time, he removed the open toed stilettos and began to massage her feet. Lowering his mouth, he slipped his lips around her toes one at a time, sucking on the delicate digits. She had never had her toes sucked before, and although she found the sensation to be strange, she also found it to be very pleasurable. When he finished with this little enticement, he set her feet back down on the floor.
Quickly she sat up again reaching for his briefs. She tugged at the sides sliding them down his legs. When she looked up, she was staring at his cock. Lifting her hands she took his member in her grip, and slowly began to stroke him. She only imagined that he was at least eight inches in length and a good two inches thick. She imagined how good it was going to feel when he finally entered her.
Lowering her mouth to his cock, she placed her lips on the tip. Slowly she slid her lips down the length of his shaft, her one hand moving to his balls, massaging them gently. He moaned out loud at the delightful pleasure that she was giving him, and he knew that he wanted to return the gift.
She stroked him and sucked him, thoroughly enjoying the pleasure that she was giving. His hands were placed on the back of her head, gently guiding her through her motions. When he felt that she might bring him too far, he gently pushed her away and back on the bed. Crawling between her legs, he placed the tip of his cock between her lips. Hovering over her chest, he lowered his head to her breast and began to suck on her nipple.
He pushed just a little, only inserting the head of his cock. Quickly she wrapped her legs around him, beckoning him to slide all the way in. Resisting her invitation, he teased her his the tip of his cock. Massaging one breast, he sucked on the nipple of the other, her moans his only guide to her pleasure.
Slowly, he started to move his mouth down her body. From the underside of her breasts, down the line of her stomach he ran his tongue, placing kisses as he moved. She anticipated where he was going, and placed her hands on his head to encourage his actions.
When he got to her pussy, he kissed and gently nibbled her flesh. Swirling his tongue in circles, he slowly moved closer to her swollen clit. He could feel her hands desperately trying to force him to complete his journey. When he finally placed the tip of his tongue on her bud, she released an incredible moan of ecstasy. Like an eager beaver he licked at her clit.
Her body began to writhe from the pleasure he was offering, and without any indication he inserted a finger. Her body bucked from the penetration, and she savored the feel of his finger sliding in and out of her. He continued to lick her clit, hastening the pace of his finger-fucking. She was close to an explosive orgasm, and he wasn't going to stop until he took her all the way. When she finally let herself go, her body was racked with ecstasy. She bucked and undulated as the waves of pleasure passed through her entire being.
Her body was overwhelmed with pleasure, every nerve ending sensitive to his touch. Gently he spread her legs and placed the tip of his throbbing cock against her saturated pussy. With a slow steady motion he slid deep inside, the length of his shaft surrounded by the flesh of her dripping pussy. He held his body up with his arms and watched his cock slide in and out. Lifting her head to see his cock slide inside of her, she noticed a figure standing in the corner.
The figure was dressed in a black hooded robe, and when he saw that she noticed him, he opened the robe and let it fall to the floor. Already nude, he slowly moved toward the bed.
Derek sensed the figure in the room, and by the look on Veronica's face, he knew that she was now aware of him too. Before she could say a word he said, "Shhh, it's only my partner."
Without having to pull out of her, he closed her legs around him and rolled the two of them so that she was now on top. Caught up in the moment, she continued to ride Derek, setting the pace as she slid up and down on his staff. She could feel the weight of his partner as he climbed onto the bed. Kneeling behind her, he placed his hand on her back, gently pushing her to Derek's chest.
Her excitement grew as her nipples brushed against Derek's chest. Suddenly, she could feel the tip of his cock against her pussy. Derek felt it too. He felt the tip of his partner's cock against the base of his shaft, and as his partner slowly began to enter her, filling her like she had never been filled before, he could feel every ripple, every vein of his partners cock.
Veronica had never experienced two men at the same time, and she was exhilarated by the event. Slowly, Derek's partner began to slide his cock in and out of her from behind. Her pussy, now filled with two cocks throbbed from the sensation. Derek also enjoyed it. He could feel his partner's cock sliding along side his, elevating his experience. When he felt that he might be getting close to exploding his hot fluid, he grabbed his partner's arm.
Derek's partner withdrew from Veronica's pussy, his cock slick with her juices. Taking his cock in his hand, he placed the tip against her anus. Gently, he slowly pushed against her ass. He could feel her anus begin to open, accepting his throbbing member.
Although Veronica had experienced anal before, she had never experienced double penetration like this. She winced at the initial discomfort, but after she had become accustomed to this new penetration, she longed to be fucked.
Derek's partner began to pound her ass. Slow at first, he hastened the pace when he realized that she had gotten used to the size of his cock. The rocking motion of his pounding caused her to slide along the length of Derek's shaft. She felt two cocks sliding deep inside of her, and it didn't take long before she came again.
As Veronica's orgasm started, her ass and pussy clamped down on the cocks that were buried deep inside of her. Her muscles stroked their cocks, and within seconds the two men came, releasing their hot cum inside of her.
Collapsing on the bed exhausted, they tried to regain their composure. For the remainder of the night their threesome continued. In the morning, the men were gone. Veronica awoke sore, but quite satisfied. It was a night that she would never forget.
4th February 2004, 02:48
it said prose, not Pr0n. :D
4th February 2004, 04:12
By Steven Laxon
The streets were dark, hiding even the most obvious lamppost in shadow. The night reached down your lungs and froze the breath inside of you, chilling your heart and your mind. This was the perfect night for death.
I strolled along, my suit jacket and crimson tie flapping slightly in the mild breeze. I was a man of business, after all, and so I did dress appropriately. Though my canter may have seemed casual to any passers-by (of which there were none; not at this late hour anyways), a deadly calm was settling over me on the inside. Within, I was growing even colder than this winter night.
I soon approached the location of the Hit. This had been specified to me by the person ordering the Hit, a rather pudgy middle aged man whom you don’t need to know about (Confidential, if you will). The building was nothing special. In fact, from what I could see of it, it looked as if it should be condemned. The entire structure, sandwiched between two other structures of equal disrepair, was a very dirty brown color. Many of its windows were broken or boarded, and only five in the entire eight decrepit stories had lights on.
I knew exactly which window belonged to the Hit. Fourth floor, suite on the right. I approached the wood and glass door, gripping the cold brass handle with my black gloved hand and silently swinging it open. My movements were not hurried. I had all the time in the world. The time, as of my entering the building, was 2:45 AM. At least according to the small round clock which hung on the wall facing me. The door closed with a minute creak and a slight groan behind me.
I proceeded past the elevator, the open door of which was festooned with yellow caution tape and a cheap ‘OUT OF SERVICE’ sign (written in red over a white background). There was not much too see past this pronouncement. The inside of the shaft was very grimy, and the only internal illumination was a slowly blinking red emergency light. My only exit and entrance was now the stairway.
I approached the door of the stairwell, opened it and slinked inside, the soft fabric of my pants brushing against the closing door. My speed picked up now. I traversed the stairs silently, swiftly, like an animal. Approaching the fourth floor landing I stopped. Reaching under my jacket with my right hand I felt the cold steel grip of my silenced 9mm pistol. Pulling it out, I checked it over, making sure it was loaded and ready. I turned off the safety and replaced it in my side holster. Next I pulled out a folding knife, flicked it open on its oiled hinge, and examined the blade. Its serrated edge was like the awaiting jaws of a shark. And soon it would be covered with blood.
I looked at the blade for a minute, my breath quickening, playing the pattern of dull light over its gleaming edge and its sharp teeth. I then opened the door and stepped through into the hall, the knife still in hand. My footsteps were silent, my manner was deadly, and my perceptions were heightened. I noticed the peeling and faded wallpaper, the numerous broken or burned-out light bulbs, and the floor which was stained heavily, some blotches having the distinct red hue of blood. An omen of what was to come.
I crept over to suite 4A, its layout already pictured in my mind. The door to the entry hall of the apartment swung open ever so slowly, and I slunk in, my frame moving with tightly coiled energy.
My knife was ready, a flash of light in the musty gloom of the single overhead bulb. Cigarette smoke hung thick around the Hit, who was sitting in a small, rickety chair, his ample back to me. From my vantage point I could see the mountains of bills which piled themselves high on the cheap folding table, a smoldering cigarette tray nestled neatly between them. Tidy stacks of twenty’s and hundred’s were arrayed there, ready for packing into a briefcase or duffel bag. Drug Money.
Off in the corner of the table rested gold. White Gold to be precise. Four ten pound bags of pure Columbian Cocaine, wrapped in clear plastic. Their pure whiteness made the grim, age old apartment appear even uglier. I suppose it was appropriate, though. Gold is, after all, found contained within so much useless rock.
The Hit was slouched in his chair, a sweat stained t-shirt and pair of jeans tight over his pudgy frame. He was muttering, calculating figures as his hands traveled deftly over the bills, counting, stacking, and then counting again. A methodical calculating machine.
I approached, ever so slowly, from behind. I could smell his stink, take in the varying shades that the sweat produced on his shirt, and could hear the beating of his heart. His breathing stopped short when he found my knife pressing into the folds of his neck.
This tends to vary between hits. Some will whimper; some will flail (resulting in a quick slice); yet others will attempt to reach for a weapon (again resulting in instantaneous death); and then some, like this one, will simply freeze. And so, seizing his apparent level of co-operation, I proceeded to go to work.
I began with a “Good evening”. My voice was even, cold, and containing no degree of pleasantness. This was business after all.
“You are going to answer my questions, immediately as they are asked. Understand?”
He spluttered, shaking visibly.
I wasn’t getting through. “So say it.”
He jerked his head, “I…I understand”
“Good,” I stretched the word out. No particular hurry.
“Now tell me, how much money is in this apartment? All of it. Not just what’s on this table, but anything at all that may be here. Tell me exactly where it is and how much of it is there. If you comply, without too much difficulty, you will be released.”
Immediately he complied. He must have misunderstood me. As soon as I finished my sentence he began rattling off figures again; first pointing to the table (fifty thousand); then to a corner of the carpet (which, he described, lifted up to reveal a storage compartment; twenty thousand); and then to a large but poorly maintained picture (dogs playing poker, how very original) which concealed a safe (one hundred thousand, a 9mm pistol and one Desert Eagle, each with a full clip). He was also so kind as to give me the combination. He had gasped out all this information with a minimum intake of air, and now sat attempting to recover his lost breath.
“And now,” I drawled, “for your excellent and unfathomable degree of co-operation, you are released.”
He sagged with mistaken relief just before the teeth of my knife parted the flesh of his neck.
A fountain erupted from where the blade had sliced. A stream and spray, expanding ******d, staining the stale air with a crimson mist. The light danced around each drop as they arced towards the floor, the table, the money. The dull and artificial green of the cash was replaced by the glow of irrefutable truth: Money was not happiness.
The Hit was complete. The target was dead, his body slack, lying face forward, resting his weary weight on the money which it had feverishly counted only minutes before. Most everything on the table was tainted, marked red, a warning of sorts: Don’t Touch. So I didn’t. Instead I wiped my knife clean on his less than clean shirt and moved over to the corner of carpet which was supposed to conceal a small fortune.
The carpet pulled back with ease, revealing a section of wood, a handle inset into it. I pulled it up, placing the cover behind me and looking upon a black duffel bag (twenty thousand, just as he had said, inside). I extracted it, replaced the lid, and rolled back into place the section of carpet.
Next I moved over to the portrait. The insatiable greed of these dogs might have just as well been a mirror for this man. I removed it. My fingers smudged the thick layer of tobacco which had coated the frame. Resting those mongrels against the wall, I then put my face close to the steel door. A black combination lock sat in the middle, waiting to be turned. My fingers worked over it, clearing the tumblers with two clockwise spins, then I brought it around to each number in turn, slowly, hearing each click and then the final clunk which told me that it was open. If the handle moved with little effort, then the door seemed to open with none at all. I spotted the guns immediately, then the cash behind them. I pulled the duffel bag up to the open vault and swept all of its contents into the bag. I left the cocaine on the table.
These items were merely the spoils of war. Finders keepers and all that. I surveyed what was now a tomb. The corpse, featured prominently in the middle atop his throne, and little else. I left the picture where it was (perhaps in more than one sense). No real point in trying to conceal anything now. I walked out of the apartment, down the stairs, past the dead elevator, and then out into the waiting night. It had grown even colder. Snow had started to fall, dusting the ground with a bright white.
It was interesting that half a block away from the apartment I should see four hooded figures making their way past me. They looked like drug dealers. Nothing concerning me, of course. I was just out for a walk. The duffel bag rocked slightly at my side.
4th February 2004, 17:06
It's erotic prose:)
7th February 2004, 03:57
The boy sat on the hedge wall. His black hair was just long enough to gently fall past his eyes when he let his head droop slightly. He sighed and watched a sky full of clouds swelling overhead. He could feel on his skin that slight pressure one feels when rain is imminent. His ice blue eyes scanned the ground, his analytical mind persuing little thoughts. A song played through in his mind absently, though no acknowledgment of the tune passed through him, nor by softly mouthing the words, nor by tapping a finger to the inaudible beat.
He just sat on a hedge and sighed, looking up at the clouds, and a drop of cold rain hit the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes gently, feeling the clear water softly bead and scatter gently on his skin. He felt the cold of the water warm ever so slightly as it touched him. He could almost see a silver painting of it in his mind, the drop exploding silently, little spheres of it separating from the smashed original and flying ******d. He could somewhat hear the metallic singing sound of the droplets moving, but the moment was over. Another drop hit his head, and another, sooner yet another and then... It was raining.
Eight thousand or so miles away, a girl sat on a swing, already in the pouring rain. She lifted the brim of her black bourret cap to look at the sky. It was a steely grey.
She sat upon an orange swing, of rubber that was slightly cracked with ages past of small children sitting on it. She was much larger than the children to whom this school's swing belonged to. She sighed a little sigh of nostalgia; Oh, to be back in elementary school, the days of playground politics, of slightly less hectic days, of singular teachers in a class of twenty five. None of this running insanely to change classes every hour. Crowded hallways, unforgiving time schedules... She sighed and clicked 'play' on her CD player. She began to swing lightly.
There is a moment that can be experienced when one is on a swing where one is shown the complexities of the earth in itself. Her eyes took in the rain ceaselessly beating the once solid earth, making it relinquish its heavy strength. Reducing it, it seemed, to vulnerability. Something as simple as kisses of the rain can cause the earth to grow humble - To show beauty and yet ugliness all the same. The swing's momentum took her to another world.
A world of roiling clouds and furious beasts, calm in all its colourless glory. There was not a patch of blue to be seen that day, the sky simply cast down a dull grey glow. It was a dull, grey day.
For just a moment, she felt as if she was a part of this new world, being thrown high up into its precarious arms. It accepted her just as if a mother would accept a child to its side. A soft smile graced her lips, and the rain lightly touched them. Her excitement grew as she felt she would travel upwards forever, and then she hung in the sky, completely horizontal. Staring straight up into the hideous, beautiful thing. This semi-sphere of moods. She fell away, felt herself losing grip on this new reality. Slipping far, far away, like the echoes of a piano note. It was more than like a piano note, it was a piano piece, and all the raindrops were the notes, playing their timeless melody to deaf ears. Deaf, to all but those who will take the sliver of silence it takes to listen.
The swing showed her back to the scarred beauty of the earth, which was her home. To what she could relate to, to the place she must eventually retire to. Succumb to the inevitability - She couldn't fly. She dragged her feet on the ground, slowing the swing and keeping her eyes locked on the sky. She stood up.
He stood up. He let out a soft sigh and ran his fingers through his hair to fix it. He could tell the rain was bringing his hair closer and closer to slipping in his eyes.
Her feet hit mud, his hit pavement, and unbeknownst to each other they both began to walk. Ironic however that their thoughts dwelt upon one another - Though being so far apart how could they tell?
Amongst the soft hiss of the rain striking the street, like clockwork they moved.
As if with roboticized precision, they both wiped off raindrops from a bench, eight thousand miles apart, took off their jackets, and sat upon them. All at the same time.
:confused: Um, why the hell is the word 'o.u.t.w.a.r.d.' blocked? What the fuck?
7th February 2004, 13:34
******. That crappy site that spams the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who dares click a link.
And by the way: Kudos. Great writing. :)
17th February 2004, 00:02
I know, it isn't as good as everyone else's, but I just had to post this:blah:
For a long time, Microsoft has sought to control the market. We fought back, but Unix and Linux, while having a niche in the server market, have lost to the Microsoft powerhouse, Windows, on the desktop market. Now, through common ignorance and public lack of knowledge about computers, Microsoft will attempt to destroy the free world of men using its next Operating system, Longhorn, which will be TCPA-enabled.
With 97.5% of the market share belonging to Microsoft, the armies of Linux never had much of a chance against the hordes of Orcs sent by Microsoft. As they do with their customers, Microsoft did not care about giving its Orcs good products; instead, Microsoft simply overwhelmed us with Orcs that were covered in bugs.
Now, they hope to strike the final blow with TCPA, which will effectively ban anything that might threaten Windows.
Our hope lies with .0002 of the internet community. They are the hackers. They are our last resort. They will get past Microsoft's Dragons (firewalls) and release the binary keys to the free world of men that will destroy Microsoft's Evil Empire.
I know I might have killed the thread but.....it was dying anyways so who cares?:p
22nd February 2004, 17:56
22nd February 2004, 22:24
Nat_roy: You should have done this in a more sophisticated way to match the thread's niveau, kind of like this:
He felt the thread slipping away from him. Falling. Falling into the endless darkness emerging from the distant shdows of the unknown world of the dying threads. Threads that will eventually decay until they are deleted, a silent explosion of binary code leaving nothing behind, nothing but his guilty conscience. At the moment it was yet not too late, although he could see the thread going down further and further with each breath he took. He felt a pulsing pain in his head which made him unable to take action or even having a clear thought. He needed to close his eyes or the pulsing would grow and become bigger, fully taking away his willpower. When he opened them again and his eyes rested on excactly the same spot they were before he closed them, on the thread, everything was still the same, except....the thread was gone! Hastily he searched the screen with fast blinks and movements of his eyes, teardrops slowly coming out of his pores on his forehead and running down while he panicked, the sweat in his eyes blurring his sight. He only had one thought: It's too late...No, there it was! The thread only slid a few lines down while he was resting his eyes previously, now he had it back on focus, this time he would not let it escape from him one more time. His fingers slowly clinched around the mouse, making awkward shivering movements because of the useless force he put into holding it, as if even the mouse would try to keep him from doing his duty, fulfilling his task to catch the thread before it was too late.
Finally he relased his left hand from the mouse after a few quick clicks only to place it carefully on the keyboard.
It had to be done and it was him who had to do it. In what seemed to him as being an eternity of seconds, he pressed his fingers against the keys which seemed to greet his touch with a soothing clicking noise. After a final move with the mouse he took a deep breath, sat back on his chair, wiped the sweat that was still running down off his forehead and looked proudly at his work.
The letters on the screen next to his username said:
The ressurrection was completed.
Just wrote this in 10 minutes, I know it's not good but I just had the idea and thought that it would be funny and match the "Bump" post above well :D Also note that English is not my first language so there are definitely many things that could have been expressed way better, I bow in front of all of you guy's skills! *bows*
23rd February 2004, 03:21
Originally posted by Mrs_Mia_Wallace
Nat_roy: You should have done this in a more sophisticated way to match the thread's niveau, kind of like this:
He felt the thread slipping away....
The ressurrection was completed.
this was really good, by the way.
She didn't really love me. It was all an act, a mask she put on when I was close by. Her mask encircled her whole body, the way her hands felt for my neck, the sound of her breath in my ear. The feel of her legs against mine wasn't real. It was a plastic version of life found only in bad movies and old cliches. Her legs were never really that yeilding, her love was never really that true. Her mind was never where it prentended to be.
I remember the soft tounch of her hair on my face, the gentle graze of her teeth on my lip, the green smile in her eyes. It was all a lie pushed into my face like a thumb ino hamburger.
The facade ended slowly, it was a long, drawn out thing, taffy-like with it's tendrils of confusion and loss. Her hand left mine, and I sought it out again. I swam in the ocean of shock, the sea of loneliness. I sought to find again that which had been taken from me, but it hadn't been taken.
My love had been lost, just lost, and that's the hardest part.
23rd February 2004, 11:12
Thank you Fickle, it was more meant as a joke but I'm glad there's still someone who likes it! :)
You story is sad but great at the same time, hope that never really happened to you that way. :confused:
7th March 2004, 05:08
This is the beginning, first draft of my new novel I'm writing. It's high time I adopted some serious writing again. Especially something completely original. The other two novels I've done are both based off something. The vampire novel is emulated off of Anne Rice's work, though the characters and events are all mine, it's still not exactly my child. Codename: Fox is a fanfic, and not exactly the field of writing I'd like to be in.
So here's something new. Something original. Something all mine. It's been given the breath of life on March sixth, 2004. Without further adieu, here is the first draft of the beginning.
It is untitled as of yet.
The monkey sat upon the charred-looking branch. The thousands of pine needles sourrounded it. There was snow kissing the soft branches, and the monkey moved without so much as stirring a needle. There was silence in the frigid air as the sun continued to rise, but no birds called. There was just a tree upon a mountain, and there was just a monkey in that tree. The sky was beginning to show its blues and oranges to the world, as if a small child had first opened its eyes.
The world was a song, floating through the bamboo leaves, and flying through the endless deserts. It sang through the branches of all the trees, and it awoke the strangest thing of all in life itself. Be the cliff that of the tiger or that of the dragon's, it stood. Like any other thing, it vibrated with the song of the world.
In a village down below the mountain, a fire smouldered.
They had been here.
A small child of no more than six stood in the aftermath, stepping over bodies and slipping in amongst broken beams and lost papers. The child crouched to all fours to inspect a piece of burnt paper. It was yellowed, and burnt at the edges. A tentative hand, large for a child's, picked up the fragment of paper.
Upon the paper were little black marks, arranged into a word. The child squinted at the beautiful calligraphy. The other wrist came to touch the paper, feel its texture. Turn it over, examine. With a small movement, the paper was flicked, folded, and stashed away.
The child loped along curiously. No sounds of crying escaped her lips, no sounds of remorse or loss. It was not out of coldness the child behaved in this way. She didn't know what she felt. A long staff protruded out of the ground, with a tattered flag blowing in the chilled air. She placed her fingers around the straight shaft of the spear, pulled it out of the earth, and fell backwards. She balanced the staff in her palms, staring at it with wide black eyes. Her black hair was blown by the frigid breeze, and for the first time, she felt fear.
No other sounds but the crackling of the fire eating away still at already fire-eaten wood was caught by her ear. Her fingers closed around the wooden shaft, feeling the grain of the carved wood. She blinked her large eyes, her delicately coloured light brown skin tinged orange by the sun. She sat crouched, balancing the spear in her hands. The snow beneath her feet crunched as she stood up, the spear still laid perfectly balanced. She shivered. A curious feeling overtook her.
She looked to the ground, and she took in a sharp breath. Tiny, the only sound heard, for time seemingly had stopped. Before her was a clawed foot. Long, slender and scaled. The claws were long, but flat. She stood, shaking, her hands gripping the spear so tightly that her knuckles whitened. She lifted her head, and looked into eyes older than time.
They were softly glowing orbs, placed upon a slender face. Just as thin and graceful as the legs. The face was not scaled, but covered in a fine black fur. There was a nose situated almost gently upon the muzzle almost like that of a dog's. The yellow eyes looked directly into her black ones, focusing with calculated accuracy. The lower jaw had long golden hair, which ran all the way down its chest. The creature was horselike in appearance, yet seemed curiously like a dragon, stepped straight out of lore. One long, gnarled horn stuck out of the mane upon the creature's head. The long, black ears were shaped like a horse's, but were much too long. They swiveled and pricked up.
She shrank back slightly, slowly turning the spear towards the creature, which was roughly the size of a large horse. The blade bumped the creature's black, scaled flank. The long hair seemed to flow as if in wind, but she felt none. None, but a strange feeling... She could have sworn the thing smiled at her, its long lips yellow and thin. Its eyes looked at her softly.
Even at her young age, she knew something important was happening. It was all grace as it moved to the side to her, its long body flashing as the still-dull morning sun hit the ebony scales. The hind legs were cloven-hoofed, and its tail was magnificent and large, the thick hairs golden, horselike. Its large head swung around to her once more, and it... Bowed. She blinked.
The sound of the smouldering wreckage was back in her ears, the thing was gone, the breath filled her lungs. The spear's blade was touching nothing now, its heavy weight held aloft by the sturdy, thin shaft. The child blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She was alone, and her heart was tugged at the disappearance of the graceful oddity. She knew not why.
She knew not why nine years later. She had matured into a slender young woman with quick reflexes, and a stoic nature. She didn't speak often, only thought. Her hair was kept at a shoulder length, its black length feathered in appearance and whispy at the ends. Her eyes were large and slightly slanted, the irises deep black and always full of emotion. Her eyes spoke more than her tongue did, her actions further spoke what her eyes could not convey.
12th March 2004, 01:57
Before I do this, I must tell you that I really enjoyed the story. It had great imagery and a great sense of mystery to it, and I think it will go really far. That being said:
"Be the cliff that of the tiger or that of the dragon's, it stood."
I'm pretty certain you mean "dragons," and that "it" does not refer to the cliff. Even if it does, this sentence needs to be cleaned up a bit for clarity.
"No sounds of crying escaped her lips, no sounds of remorse or loss."
This sounds awkward.
"It was not out of coldness [that] the child behaved in this way."
Just another awkward thing.
"No other sounds but the crackling of the fire[,] [still] eating away at already [charred] wood, [were] caught by her ear."
"her delicately coloured light brown skin tinged orange by the sun."
"the spear still laid perfectly balanced."
Either replace "laid" with "lying" or just get rid of "laid" altogether.
"Tiny, the only sound heard, for time seemingly had stopped."
Tiny what? the breath? If so, please indicate it.
"Before her was a clawed foot[,] [l]ong, slender and scaled."
"They were softly glowing orbs, placed upon a slender face[,] [which was j]ust as thin and graceful as the legs."
"There was a nose situated[,] almost gently, upon the muzzle[, which was] almost like that of a dog."
In addition, the second almost is a bit awkward, but nothing big.
"[Its] yellow eyes looked directly into her black ones, focusing with calculated accuracy. [Its] lower jaw had long golden hair, which ran all the way down its chest."
I think you should put the staring at the end; the rest of the paragraph is about what it looks like, not about what it's doing. Either that or put it with the description of the eyes.
"yet [it] seemed curiously like a dragon  of lore."
Okay, so don't cut all of that part out, but that needs to change somehow.
"which was roughly the size of a large horse."
Again, I suggest you put the descriptive stuff together. Size would be one of the first things she noticed, so it should be one of the first things that the story mentions, not the last.
"[No wind], but a strange feeling..."
"[The creature] was all grace as it moved to the side to her, its long body flashing as the still-dull morning sun hit the ebony scales. [She saw that t]he hind legs were cloven-hoofed, and its tail was magnificent and large, the thick hairs golden, horselike."
"The sound of the smouldering wreckage was back in her ears,[the breath [she had begun to take now] filled her lungs. The thing was gone.]"
"She [still] knew not why nine years later."
"She didn't speak often, [but spent much time in] only thought."
Please don't hate me... I was only trying to help.
Apart from the few grammatical errors, though, it's awesome, and so much better than anything I'll ever write.
12th March 2004, 03:43
Feck you, I did mean dragon's in possessive form. Not plural. It is owned by the dragon.
Hehe, and it is only the first draft. Thanks for the helpyness.
6th July 2004, 06:08
.:: A Stream of Consciousness ::.
I looked into your eyes and saw... That I do not exist... Every night this dream is the same... I wait for the world to end... And you... I cannot remember clearly if you were there beside me.
With the shifting sands comes a whisper that explains to all. There is nothing more that one can do than listen to that whisper when it chooses to fly across the plains, seducing every leaf and rock and tree that it touches.
It holds every ounce of wisdom that can exist, this small voice... It holds ransom the world's vices inside lizard's eyes, inside the sun's rays... It bides its time, hiding inside the crystal of uncracked rocks, waiting to be released and speak their stories to all whom will listen.
Please sleep next to me. There is a rock nearby a small pond, where at night the fireflies light up and the few frogs that are there, croak at their spawn which floats in the water. The air is warm and the grass is only tall in patches, which frame the place about with their characteristic tufts.
There is a boulder right next to the brick layout of the pond... If one lays beside it one's back is warmed by the words and the warmth that the boulder, older than time, has to give... And lazy minds can be entertained by the erratic movements of ants as they continue on in their busy lives, oblivious to such things as love and politics... And yet they exist without much of a problem.
So please, won't you join me there once? I only ask for a time, just to be alone with you... It's not such a bad place for the exchange of words.
24th July 2004, 06:09
There was only the tall, swaying grass, and the African sunrise that seemed to be moving so slowly that it was completely still.
The colours it brought into the world were clumsy, as if painted by a child's hand. There were watery blue streaks, greys, hazes of lilac purple and fiery golds and reds.
From within this poignant quiet, finally the world was reassured that there was still movement upon her favourite child, the Savannah. There emerged a striped mare from the copse of tall lifeless stalks.
Her belly was greatly swollen with foal, and as she walked, her gait caused the unborn to swing side to side ever so gently.
Her ashen-dipped nares raised till her slender face was aligned with the horizon. Paper-thin nostrils flared as the young mare let the earth's scent speak its story. The pang hit her, and her knees nearly buckled. A soft bray escaped her flexible, grass-accustomed lips. The birth was beginning.
-The beginning of a short story I was going to write, about a mare giving birth and then a lioness chasing her and catching her new yoing, but... Blah, too lazy to write, and the idea seems too damn sad now.
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