laelianas

[laelianas]

Jackie and Shauna dancing happily in the rain for @laelianas, as part of @femslashaction!

[laelianas]

A/N: An exercise in understanding a character from different angles :D

An objective description

Tall, around 6’7ft, with hair that goes down to the his collar. He has brunette hair with blonde tinges throughout. A large build, made up of mainly muscle. Half of his right cheek has been ripped out, revealing his teeth constantly. Burns across his eyes in the shape of two hands, he has white eyes. Scarring continues down his neck.

A subjective description (Character POV)

I stare through my reflection, I can barely stand to look it in the eye. Yet the mirror forces me to. The eyes of a coward, the eyes of a monster. The more I look the more I realise there’s another staring back at me, not quite me yet it wears my face all the same. More haggard than I, more cracks on the surface ready to shatter and allow what lurks beneath to crawl out of my very soul. I want to look away but I can’t. I’m drawn to it, deep down I know that; I’m drawn to what he meant for me to be. I see it smiling at me, stretching the skin of my face. It draws my attention to the hole in my face forcing the smile wider in a deformed manner. When I look back to my eyes I see it. The dance of the dead. It was never smiling first, it was smiling back at me.

An outside perspective

I watched him try to wipe the blood from his hands. It was an impossible task yet he scrubbed anyways, maybe it was an attempt to erase what he did. I’ll never know. All I remember is seeing him shake in fear; I don’t know what he could be afraid of though. No one stood a chance against him, yet he was afraid. His breathing was heavy and loud, his eyes wild and confused. He seemed like he had no idea what he had done. It was like watching a real like Jekyll and Hyde. The monster had done the deed and left the man with the consequences. I wanted to comfort him in that moment; I wanted to tell him that it was alright. I just couldn’t move. I was frozen in place, unsure as to if it was fear that held me there or curiosity.

[laelianas]

Façades

I close my eyes and count to ten A single breath of fresh air, that the two of us share. I try to ignore the thousand eyes as I keep my gaze downcast,

an overwhelming feeling to behold! The fear. The shiver. The disillusion of a single voice within my mind, a universe in which a story lies. Taking me in and transcending me from the pavement floor, forcing my facial façade to show its cracks.

A/N: This poem was based off a line from The Apocalypse of John by Rachel Mann in her book A Kingdom of Love! the line is:

Ten of us, eyes downcast, Behold! A universe in pavement cracks;

This was my attempt at a golden shovel poem, any feedback is welcome!

[laelianas]

I am Paul Atriedes

A/N: I wrote a silly little spoken word for Paul Atriedes to help feed my current Dune obsession! Please forgive me in advance for any terrible pronunciation and/or stuttering - Dyslexia is a hassle, so I sometimes start saying the wrong word lol. Anyways please enjoy! Any feedback would be wonderful! Transcription:

I am Paul Atriedes, I am known by many and yet so few, My mind is open, Yet I cannot see, The paths that lie in front of me. I have lost so much and I feel the burden, Of the dukedom thrust upon me.

My hand lays heavy, A ring thrust upon it, A constant reminder that I have lost it.

Lost it all to the traitors and the blades, Power hungry emperors and barons, Fearful slaves to institution, And women who take a stranglehold upon power. I have lost Paul Atriedes and he cannot be found,

Lost to the desert, A shroud of sand.

I am Paul Usul Muad’dib, Soldier, Warrior, Rebel and fighter.

My hatred burns in my stomach, The Harkonnens! The cowards! The slavers that wrangle, The small planet of Arrakis to its knees, Until the spice runs out.

It will never run out.

The Harkonnens, I hear them in my dreams, Alongside their laughter I hear their screams.

The Baron may call it his, His desert, His Arrakis, His Dune. Yet it belongs to the people. The ones who have tamed the land, Who understand more than the spice fields, More than the wealth, More than the power.

It is their desert, Their Arrakis, Their Dune.

And I will keep it that way, No matter what the voices say, No matter what my mother whispers in my ear. Power and divine right, What nonsense does she whisper in the night?

She tricks and she lies, Yet the voices tell me she is right? That it is not a fallacy that I have come to the sands of Arrakis. The call of destiny always seems like a lie, A careful manipulation done thousands of times.

Yet the voices cry out, “Do what needs to be done!” The forcing of my hand to prove, That I am the one.

I am Paul Muad’Dib Atriedes, I am the Kwistatz Haderach. I am the only one who knows what should be done, For I have seen a thousand futures and yet I know only one, Will lead us into a future, A better one.

I am the Kwistatz Haderach, The one the Bene Gesserit seek, “The Voice from the Outer World!” The hero that they need.  

I will do what is necessary, To achieve victory, I do not need anyone to fight for me, I fight for me and me alone. I will avenge my father, That died in shame.

My father, My mission. My desert power found. My desert. My Arrakis. My Dune.

Dear father, Can you hear me? Nothing will stop me now.

The great houses will obey me, And the people will pray to me. For I am the Lisan al Gaib, And they cannot handle a future without me.

[laelianas]

Rats

An ekphrastic poem based on a single corner of a painting by Hieronymus Bosch (corner provided)

A game of rats is afoot, The players sat in their places. No one knows the rules, Yet everyone wants to play by them.

They sit,

They play,

Yet they don’t even know the game. Winners and losers, But no one knows when they’ve won. People sit around their tin can, Not wanting to interrupt, Only listening as the rules are discussed, But ignored as the metal begins to rust.

[laelianas]

I am the bear!

An ekphrastic poem for Hermit with a Bear by Mikhail Nesterov (1925)

I sat quietly in the grass,

Wondering when this man planned to pass.

He sat upon the fallen tree,

Watching the sky and ignoring me.

I thought I was a stoic fellow

Though it felt like I reminded him of a marshmallow.

We sat beside a cylindrical container,

As I wondered if I could muster the courage to be a complainer.

To wonder why he refused to look at me,

A bear. The creature he refused to see.

It was like I was any other animal at a zoo,

But I knew for certain it was not true.

I am mighty, strong and fierce,

Don’t you know my claws can pierce?

Pay attention to me damn you!

Or I’ll have to make it so you do.

You and your blue coat,

Will be running away on a boat,

When my wrath finally escapes me,

You’ll find there’s many places you’d rather be.

Look at me damn it!

Or I’ll remind you of the man I bit.

—-

A/N: A poem I actually really liked making! (rare for me to say)

[laelianas]

The Lion and the Hawk (remastered)

A/N: I previously uploaded a version of this but I recently remastered it for an assessment so I'm gonna upload it again! --------------------------------------

The lion lay lazily upon the highest point of the large, jagged rock. Yawning, teeth wide, as he took his place as the king atop of the massive boulder. Any threats that came near the rock, be it a rooster, a wolf or a bull, were promptly swiped back down to the floor below from the advantageous position. The lion reflected upon how he gained the rock often, finding great pleasure in reminding himself of his outrageous victory.

The hawk, red-tailed and proud, had been a fool to trust the lion’s cunning sneer as he offered the proposition of protection in exchange for a part of the top of the rock. It had been the hawk’s home for as long as anyone could remember. It had always belonged to the hawk. Until the lion decided it belonged to him.

The highest peak of the area, a symbol of strength over the other animals that hid amongst the forest’s arching trees and olive leaves of brushes. A position that was once a respected one, when the hawk nested there, that had become tainted by the lion’s overwhelming desire for more power. He had outgrown the pride he travelled with; they became comfortable with half the forest. The lion wanted more. Needed more. So, the plan to take the proud rock from the hawk began. The hawk was fooled by the lion’s deceptive words. A lion’s words have always wavered in the truth.

However, the hawk didn’t know the lion. They had never met the lion. Lions were a foreign concept on this side of the forest. They didn’t usually venture so far away from home. Deceiving with tantalising words: strength, security and safety. However, said strength never applied to the hawk, for they could never compete with the power of a lion’s jaw nor the might of his paw. The hawk had been betrayed by one they never should have trusted. Day in and day out the hawk watched the lion sleep on the rock as if it had always belonged to him – it had never belonged to him.

The hawk felt betrayed, defeated. They had nothing and no one to turn to. After all, who could beat a lion atop a mountainous rock? Many had tried, many had failed. They had watched creatures climb and fall day after day and the pattern never seemed to change. The lion remained content and powerful whilst the hawk grew powerless and bitter. That was when the eagle knew it was best to make a move.

The eagle had once been an ally to the lion, many summers ago, until he had gotten sick of the ego and his never-ending need for self-actualisation that never came as the lion did not know what fulfilment even meant. He just wanted more. It bored the eagle. He had made a statement of leaving him, his screeches heard throughout the west side of the forest. Since then, he had been in hiding, watching and waiting for the perfect moment where the lion was at his most languorous. He came across the hawk, fuming and frustrated, and an idea came to his mind.

In the eyes of the eagle, the hawk was the perfect opportunity to strike hard at the lion. He would not expect his foe to return so soon, it would catch him off guard. He also would never expect his foes to appear from above, sawing and vicious. It was perfect.

The eagle approached the hawk, a fraudulent look in his eye.

"So, I see you've realised that a lion comes hand in hand with lies." He said gleefully.

The hawk would stare silently in response, a sad stoicism still present causing the eagle to laugh.

"The fact is," he continued. "You and I have been screwed over by the same so-called king of the jungle. A beast with a mane of lies. So, what do you say we help each other out? We take care of him together and then you get your place on top of the world again while I get my revenge. Honestly this is a deal you just can't refuse."

"You are as sly as the lion." The hawk scoffed.

"Yet I'm the one who has no interest in that pebble of yours. I only want revenge and you're my opening for it. The sky is my kingdom after all, I have no need for yours." The eagle offered.

This caused the hawk to pause, unsure how to reply, before relenting.

"What could you possibly have in mind?" They said causing a devious glint to emerge in the eyes of the eagle.

"The sky."

"The sky?"

"Lions can't fly, well unless we make a lion fly. We fly down and push him off the rock, what's he going to do? Use his wings to stick the landing? No. We push him down and then he doesn't get up. An easy win for us both, but we must work together. So, what do you say." An extended wing appeared in the hawk's eyeline as the eagle explained his plan. They swallowed before connecting their wing with the eagle's.

"Another bird is easier to trust in the end!" The eagle would laugh, a flicker of deception in his eyes causing a gut feeling of distrust in the hawk that they chose to ignore. 

They flew high above the rock and the overconfident lion before shooting down, hard and fast, and attacking the lion from above. Claws and beaks scratched and bit at the overwhelmed lion as he tried to fend off his attackers to no avail. His paws swiped at air as the birds of prey flew in and out of proximity of the lion, forcing him back further and further until his back paws met the edge of the rock. One final push and the lion was sent into retreat down the rock, sprinting away as the two birds watched from above.

Victory had been grasped by the hawk and finally, their home was their own again. They moved over to their now broken nest and began to move sticks back into place in an attempt to fix the damages. It was the easiest time to strike, and the eagle had decided he liked the highest peak of the rock. It should belong to a proud bird like him, not a bird like the hawk. The hawk had their back turned anyways; everyone knows you should never turn your back on anything even if you think they’re an ally.

The eagle screeched and jumped up before flying at the hawk, fast. He slammed into the hawk, causing them to lose balance and fall down the side of the rock, landing on their wing. They looked up at the smug eagle, who was happy with the new dynamic between the two birds, and tried to flap their wings to fly back up and reclaim what was theirs. But their wing was broken. It flapped limply and gained no air traction, only pain. The eagle watched for a moment as the hawk began to lose hope all over again, stuck on the forest floor for the foreseeable future as the eagle turned away to make its nest.

[laelianas]

A conversation with Death

A/N: Deals with the idea of loss of a loved one and grief! Please be aware of that before reading! -------- He stared at the hole in the ground. His body felt numb and the bile in his throat burned uncomfortably as he watched soil start to cover the black box sitting snugly in the pit. A shaky breath escaped his lips, one he did not realise he was holding in, as tears welled up in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It didn’t feel real. His mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of it. One minute she was fine, the next she was six feet under. He clenched and unclenched his hands, his skin stinging where his nails had broken through. His tongue clung to his dry mouth like cotton, withholding words left unsaid. Blood drummed in his ears and his eyes stung painfully no matter how many times he aggressively blinked. It was all too much; he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this alone. There was no one else. No one who could hold him and tell him it was okay. No one who could-

“It always seems to rain on days like these.”

A voice broke through his thoughts, unfamiliar yet calming.

“What?” Jeremy replied, keeping his eyes trained on the shovels pouring umber dirt onto his reason for being.

“Funerals. It always seems to rain when there’s a funeral. God’s way of saying they’re sorry, I guess. Then again, if they were really sorry, they would not do this in the first place.”

This time Jeremy looked up at the source of the voice, a woman, clad in an all-black dress that clung to her sides and a trench coat. Her lips were painted with a red that Jeremy could only associate with the crimson of blood and her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, seemingly blocking out more than just the sun. She held an umbrella in a gloved hand as she smiled at him – a gleeful smile rather than an apologetic one.

“Sorry, I forget that people worship them. Bad joke on my part.” The smile never dropped from her lips.

“Who are you?” He muttered, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I knew your wife. I must admit we met late in her life, but she was fascinating to talk to. Shame she had to go.” The final sentence stung; his jaw clenched.

“Do you need to be so cruel? She’s barely in the fucking ground for God’s sake.” He said through gritted teeth; it only earned him a laugh in response.

“Always so quick to anger when it comes to death, I’ll truly never understand it.” She replied, watching him closely from behind tinted glass.

In that moment, Jeremy wanted nothing more than to hit the woman square in the face. He wanted to make her feel even the slightest inkling of what he felt – how it felt to suffer as he did. The sound of shovels patting down on dirt pulled him from that thought, causing his anger to dissipate back into grief once again. She was locked in; the death was finalised in the eyes of the world.

He found himself staring down as a deep sigh made its way out of him. The rain poured down on him, trickling drops of water off his face and absorbing into his soaking wet suit. He couldn’t tell if it was his tears or the rain running down his face anymore, he couldn’t find it in him to care which. The raindrops drumming on his skull acted like phantom fingers combing through his hair, soothing him one last time before the end.

The feeling did not last much longer. An umbrella was inserted between him and his comfort as a hand found his arm, tugging him closer to the woman. There was an unnatural aura about her up close, he watched her speak as no breath sought to escape her lungs. Whatever she said to him fell upon deaf ears even as she got closer to him, the cold of her lips pinching uncomfortably at his ear. The hand around his arm snaked upwards and towards his chin, turning him to face her, as she provided yet another smile. It felt different this time, almost comforting. As if she had realised that her words lingered restlessly in his mind. Her thumb circled Jeremy's cheek in a slow, soothing, rhythm. He found himself starting to relax - his body easing tensions he did not even realise he was experiencing as his head leaned into her palm. His body felt grounded to the floor for the first time in months. It was all pity, he knew that, but he needed it. The loneliness that awaited him after the grass begins to grow could wait a little longer for him - he needed a moment of peace even if it were from one who had been so nonchalant with his feelings.

She pulled back from him, dragging him from his thoughts once again as she gave him another deceptively sweet smile.

“And here I thought I would be rubbing my jaw in pain. Quite the change in emotions there.”

He scoffed at her remark.

“You really know how to make the mood worse; you know that?” He said, pulling a chuckle from her.

“I have often been referred to as a mood killer among other things. But you don’t really have anyone else here to cry to, so I suppose you’ll just have to let me dull the mood.”

A question reached the tip of his tongue, falling out.

“Why are you here?”

Another laugh.

“I wanted to see the consequences of circumstance. The reaction to action. The confusion and frustration that always seems to come from these events.”

He was confused, it didn’t make any sense. What was she even implying? Her words jarred him, leaving him with more questions than answers. Unless she was saying what he feared most. He looked back at the newly planted grave, a conclusion forming on his lips. He turned to her again only to find no one there.

The rain pattered down on his head gently, it almost felt apologetic this time, as he was left alone once more. A/N: Honestly not a piece I can say I particularly like but if I write it I upload it! Any feedback would be awesome!

[laelianas]

Perspective exercise

A/N: An exercise I did in class on perspective in character description!

Who they are (objective):

Atlas is a history professor in his mid 30s. He’s tall with short, dirty blonde, hair and a 5 o’clock shadow to match. He wears his glasses all the time, he cannot see without them, and chooses to wear casual dress shirts with jeans every day. He looked tired around the eyes and had scarring on his left cheek. His complexation is slightly tan.

He pushes his students to do their best and often works overtime on feedback and lecture planning, he finds himself tired most days. 

Seeing themselves:

He looked at himself in the mirror, he looked enervated. His age was really showing now, his 5 o’clock shadow reminding him that he needed to shave again - though he really couldn’t be asked to. Atlas was a man in his mid 30s, feeling as if he was already in his late 80s and he knew why. He worked too hard, pushed himself to the brink too often, and he could already hear his wife’s voice ringing in his head - asking him to finally come home on time. To stop working late. To stop putting the needs of his students before all of his own. He couldn’t help himself, of course, he truly believed in his students and he wanted them to succeed - even if that wasn’t the most healthy choice for him. To him, they were the future. Atlas brushed his hand over his scarred cheek lightly, feeling a phantom pain as he did so, he had worked so hard in so many different ways for others - why should he stop now?

Being seen:

She watched Atlas get ready for work with an unreadable expression. He was leaving early, again, and she took displeasure in watching him rush about the bedroom - hastily throwing on a scruffy shirt and neglecting his shaving yet again. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her that he was acting this way, it was exam season after all, and everyone seemed to be in need of his advice or help in anything and everything. He never got a break, never took a moment to breathe on days like this. Lyla watched him chug his third coffee of the morning, even if daylight had yet to break, and whisper a hushed goodbye at her as he went to grab the doorknob. That was when she grabbed his arm, stopping his bulldozing pace for a moment as he looked at her in confusion. She’d bring a hand up, caressing his tired face gently as he leaned in, and watched as the mask of energy slipped away - if only for a second. Then, the moment passed. He turned and kissed her hand before slipping through the door, leaving her with the knowledge he wouldn’t be back until the late evening now. Even if his work day ended at 4pm. 

[laelianas]

Sinners of the same vine

Her body felt warm against me, cradled in my arms as I refused to let go.

“This needs to be the last time,” I hear, barely in whisper.

“I know.” I’m lying.

It won’t be the last time, it never is. Every time we call it our last, we open the door to a new first, the cycle of love and hate never ending and always repeating. We can’t free ourselves from our intertwined heartstrings, attempting to pull them apart without snapping – to no avail. We’re two sinners, unable to atone in a lone prayer. God would not forgive our sins with each other, yet we can’t resist the pull that takes us deeper into the sweetness of embracing each other.

--

Hidden in the dark corners of rooms, in the lightless evenings, behind walls we know no one would check behind: the uncontrollable need for the touch of her hands, her lips, crashes through my faith and shatters my self-respect. The preacher would yell God’s truth, echoing loudly throughout the nave, and I find myself taking her hand in mine. I expect her to pull away, fear of God’s judgement conflicting with her heart, but she doesn’t. She holds on to me, anchoring me in the truth of what we are. Sinners, hidden behind closed doors and sipping from the sweetest of wines that the devil offers us. We can’t help but accept it every time.

A/N: Practising ekphrasis in lecture today! tried to do one based off Daylight by David Kushner, any feedback would be awesome!

[laelianas]

The Witch Hunter

I found the witch shortly after her victim had come to me, screaming and crying about being cursed by one of the demon brides of Satan. The curse seemed real enough, their hands were bleeding from dirty and infected wounds, and it clearly looked as if the witch had placed a curse upon his previously gained wounds to punish them for following God’s path. She wasn’t hard to find, her footsteps clear in the dirt of the forest, and she certainly wasn’t a fast runner. I dragged her kicking and screaming back to town and brought her before the court of public appeal. Of course, there is no appeal for being a witch. She needs to be thoroughly tested for witch routes, dunking or burning I say. The woman may plead for innocence but if she was innocent, she wouldn’t have run from me and the trial in God’s name. She had cursed our poor victim, and she should pay the highest price for it – no witch shall escape the wrath of God in the end. While this is my expert opinion, I shall wait for the final decision by the hands of the good people here and the most righteous Mayor.

A/N: A little witch prompt from my collaborative workshop today!

[laelianas]

Finally. I killed my boss (641 words)

This morning I hit my boss with my car. Did I mean to? Probably. Am I going to regret it? Absolutely not. He had been getting on my nerves recently and, quite frankly, I had enough. Constant sudden deadlines, frequent shouting matches and for some reason he kept taking my lunch. At least I think it was him, might’ve been Mike instead, hardly matters anyways. The point is, he’s dead and I killed him. It feels great. Fantastic even. If there was a god, I’m proud of them today.

Obviously, I had to get rid of the body, couldn’t just leave it there, so I dragged it to the back of my car and threw it in. God, he was heavy… Or maybe I was weak, nah that couldn’t be right. I called into work and made up an excuse about being late, dentist appointment – they fell for it so easily. Next was to drive into the middle of nowhere and dump the body. I had a shovel in the back of my car just in case a situation like this arises, crazy I know, and boy was I glad I brought it with me today.

I settled for an unpopulated wooded area with only a few houses near to it. Perfect honestly. I dragged his decomposing corpse along the rough ground until I had found the best place to begin digging. I picked a spot far from the main path, can’t have random people finding him, and hidden behind a large brush. Digging the hole was the biggest task of this whole excursion, it took me hours to make the hole big enough and by the end of it I had to sit there for 20 minutes before I even started to consider tossing him inside.

Eventually I regained my composure, and I filled the hole, checking the time as I got back to my car. 12 o’clock.  Perfect timing. The drive back was relaxed, I had nothing to worry about as I was sure no one would find the body.

I got to work an hour later, and I pretended nothing had happened. I did my work and got on with my day. Number crunch, submit, number crunch and submit. My routine was returned to me, and I felt at ease. Then, Mike started talking at me. Yapping about God knows what, God, he annoyed me. At this rate he was going to be the next one in from of my car. That was until he asked me about the meeting later.

“What?” I heard myself say,

“I said, Jeremy is moving the meeting to an hour earlier today. He needs to go home early today for some reason – cheeky bastard.” Mike replied casually.

“That’s not possible.”

“Well, it is, so you better make it possible for yourself.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s not possible.” I’d emphasise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man, but if you can’t make it, you better tell Jeremy. Even though you already took the morning off. He wasn’t happy about that by the way.”

I felt myself getting angrier.

“No, this is impossible. Jeremy cannot be here.”

“He is here though.”

“No. He’s not.”

“Yes. He is.”

Then, I snapped.

“No. He is not here. He is 40 miles away in a fucking hole where I left him. I killed the bastard I hit him with my car.”

Mike would laugh nervously at that.

“Man, I want whatever you’re on.”

I couldn’t take it anymore; I sped out of the room heading straight for Jeremy’s office, pushing the door open. Only to see him, sat there in his chair at his desk. He looked furious.

“You’ve got some nerve bursting into my office after the stunt you pulled this morning. 3 days notice! 3 days! On every single appointment!”

What the fuck? A/N: silly little attempt at an unreliable narrator, any feedback would be awesome!

[laelianas]

The will (507 words)

“And finally, all monetary assets and otherwise are to be left to my grandson – Leo.”

There was quiet as the final sentence on the will was read out - no one could believe what had just been said. Then, there was outrage. Leo watched as his various aunts and uncles leapt to their feet in protest, raising their voices above each other and becoming louder and louder – echoing out through the domed room. The agent looked fed up already and Leo definitely had no intention of remaining in that room for any longer. He stood up slowly, trying to not draw attention to himself, and tried to creep towards the door – that was until he heard the shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia.

“And where do you think you’re going?!”

Leo turned to look at her, finding himself face to face with her long, wrinkled, index finger pointing directly at him. He visibly gulped in that moment; the room felt like it was closing in on him as heads snapped to face him. Then the yelling began, the metaphorical pitchforks facing him now, demands and pleas were thrown at him all at once. Leo felt like a cornered animal but instead of gaining a second wind he felt like breaking down and crying. Why were they blaming him? It wasn’t his fault he was nice to Grandma whenever he saw her. He liked Grandma. A bang silenced the room.

“You vultures need to back away from the poor boy. He had nothing to do with Ven’s choices and you need to stop complaining over it.”

His saviour, his grandfather, had drawn the attention off him and Leo felt himself relax.

“Be serious Dad, he’s just a boy. He doesn’t need the money.”

Uncle Jamie always had to have his way.

“Pull yourself together, that’s your nephew you’re talking about. Not some random kid off the street. He deserves it more than you anyways.” His grandfather was the best at standing his ground.

“We needed that money; we have expenses to pay off!” Aunt petunia, starting to raise her voice again, grabbed Leo by the shirt.

“This boy doesn’t have anything going for him, he won’t even make it to university! He doesn’t need it.”

That’s when his grandfather had enough. He pulled Petunia’s hand from Leo’s shirt and took Leo by the hand, leading him out of the room even as various family members started to protest. Slamming the door behind him, his grandfather sat him down on a chair outside.

“Are you alright lad?” His voice was far gentler than before.

“I- yeah, I think I am. I don’t think anyone else is though.” Leo felt small, and his voice reflected that.

“Don’t think about those fools. They were never going to be happy with any outcome. Vultures the lot of them.” He’d place a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright, you’ve really got to learn to stand your ground though.”

Leo would laugh slightly at that. “Yeah, you’re probably right Grandpa.”

A/N: Warm up excerise for my lecture, prompt was to write an arguement about a document! Any feedback would be awesome.

[laelianas]

A clean workspace (573 words)

Cleaning one’s knife is important when preventing cross-contamination. She’d clean it each time she switched food type, ensuring that the food remained edible once prepared. Onions, peppers, spices and meats were all thrown carefully into a pan – already spitting with hot oil. The ingredients fried and sizzled as she moved to check her phone. One message sent, left unread. Letting out a sigh, she’d place her phone back on the countertop.

Tossing ingredients in the pan, allowing the various items to separate and land in new places on different sides, she’d find her mind wandering. He wasn’t always late home, but it was getting more frequent. Texts were being left unread more often than she would like, and her patience was running thin. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a timer, informing her that more preparations were in order.

She’d pick up the knife once more, slicing through tomatoes and pushing them to one side. A quick wipe on a cloth, a rough dry, and she was moving on to chopping bacon. A few slices and it was all thrown in the pan, the knife quickly wiped and discarded, and the ingredients were tossed again.

It was starting to smell good now, the various spices finally creating an intoxicating aroma that improved her mood very slightly. That was until her phone vibrated, twice. A text. She’d pick up her phone, greeted with the words:

“I’m not going to make it home in time, eat without me x”.

Another disappointment. Another night with her breaking out a new wine bottle, knowing she would finish it that evening. She had no proof he was doing anything wrong, but she felt it in her bones – something wasn’t right. She’d sip on her wine before moving her food off the hob and getting out a second pan. Filling it with water, she’d allow it to boil as she moved to cut some bread. The knife would slice through the loaf with ease – crumbs sticking to the blade after each cut. She’d take to wiping it down with her finger, watching the crumbs move around and not detach from the blade.  

The water would bubble up and shake the pan, forcing her to look over, and she would grab a bag of pasta hastily – tipping pasta in a pan. Her hands found her phone and her fingers moved across the screen – locating the clock app and starting a timer as a notification popped up. One new message. Her friend’s name graced her screen, a happy escape from her frustrations, and she raced to answer. That was until she saw the message. An image. No caption. She picked up her glass and downed her wine, throwing it at the wall and watching the last dregs of wine splatter across the countertop and onto her discarded knife.

Wine clung to the blade, causing it to become sticky and stained. She’d pick it up again, moving to cut up some cucumber and lettuce before leaving it on the side, dirty. The pasta was strained, and the toppings were poured on, the dish was finally complete. Cucumber was placed in a side bowl, and she’d look for a new glass, coming up empty and opting to drink directly from the bottle. She’d leave the kitchen, moving into the living room ready to watch whatever could numb her brain alongside the wine, leaving the knife – dirtied and discarded – on the side.

A/N - My first attempt at intentional symbolism, any feedback welcome!

[laelianas]

Gale (648 words)

The trial was an intergalactic affair, various different planets within the federation saw it necessary that they send their own representative to oversee the proceedings. Gale knew it was never going to end in his favour. His fate was decided a while ago now and his attempts to contest his false charges would end in failure. He was going to die. He was going to die just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bloody magnificent.

He was led, shackled, to his stand in the massive courtroom. It was full to the brim with representatives and Gale couldn’t help but laugh at the cramped bodies that seemed to fill his eyeline. So many people wanted him to die for doing nothing. All in the name of order and prosperity.

He really didn’t want to die. He still had so much he wanted to do, so much left to see. They wanted him to plead guilty, give into his fate, but in that moment he chose a different path. A path for himself not for the whims of others. He was going to live. So when the fated question was asked, he answered:

“How does the defendant plead?” The question echoed throughout the large chamber.

A moment of pause, a breath taken in.

“Not guilty.”

An expectation broken and an uproar of fury. Gale could feel the very floor vibrate as the protests of irrelevant representatives cried out within the domed room. He had done it, he had protested against the authority. They hated it. He loved it. He wasn’t going to go down, he was going to beat them at their own game. Gale knew enough about the various galactic laws to maybe stand a chance and win his case, it was all in his power-

“The defendant does not speak for himself.”

A booming voice silenced the protests and stopped breath escaping Gale’s lungs. The judge had spoken. His piercing gaze held Gale hostage as the room settled in a low murmur.

“The defendant is charged with high treason against the authority. It has been selected that the defendant will plead guilty. The court will now decide the defendant’s fate.”

Three short sentences and it was over before it could even begin. He was back to square one. Back to dying. So Gale, naturally, started to cry. He had so much to say to his family, his friends, his loved ones. There was so many things he wanted to do. He even had a list, granted most of it was impossible but he had still made it and now he was never going to complete even one of them.

Gale had realised, in the torturously long period of deliberation on his fate, that his time had been fleeting and he was overall, pretty useless. He really had nothing going for him, just an average guy. He wasn’t anything incredible and he certainly wouldn’t be remembered. His family may love him but what would they even say at his funeral?

‘Here lies Gale, he was alive for a while and now he isn’t. Good job Gale. Love you.’

God, he was pathetic.

“The court has decided your fate.”

The domineering voice of the judge broke through his self-loathing fantasies yet again as he was forced to listen to the inevitable outcome. It was probably time anyways, he was ready now. There wasn’t that much that he really wanted to do anyways – his list in reality was quite short. He was ready to die for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was fine.

“The defendant is found…”

Here it comes, the heavy hitter. The one word that ends it all. Gale really hoped it would be a painless procedure, he didn’t handle pain well. Throwing up at the very sight of blood was a common occurrence for him.

“…Not guilty.”

What?

A/N - Any feedback would be awesome!

[laelianas]

Prompt - "It's finally time to tell you my secret"

We sat across from each other, our eyes meeting then flitting away quickly as we noticed that we caught each other’s attention. The bounce of a knee and a single, deep breath as I finally opened my mouth tentatively to speak: “It is finally time to tell you my secret…”

A/N - Very short little writing practice, any feedback would be awesome!

[laelianas]

Day in the life

Awoken at the break of dawn in the early hours of the morning, finding myself often without the proper amount of sleep after the enjoyment and festivities of the night before. Any further attempts at sleeping are always, without exception, hindered by the banging of a squire’s hand upon my door – signally that the day must begin. Forcing myself awake I find myself in the training grounds, as I always do, routinely going through the motions of training myself and my squire (if I can be bothered to deal with his pitiful attempts to swing a sword that day) whilst wondering why I chose a profession that spends most of the time doing the same thing every day. Train, guard, patrol, fight and drink. Not a single day without at least three of them. Though, days where a fight is involved is always one to remember: the feeling of my heart racing as I swing my sword tactically at my opponent where I hope, no, pray for a satisfying hit that leaves me buzzing long into the night after. The rush of adrenaline reminds me why I chose this path every time, the excitement and the triumph that comes with a victory building up my appetite for a party. Like always, festivities move long and heartily into the night, only slowing in the small hours of the morning where I find myself wishing I had slept more before the mundane routine of a usual day.

A/N - Small writing practice about my dream job as a kid and the tasks that would come with it lol, any feedback would be awesome!