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libidomechanica · 1 month ago

Text

“I grow ashamd to do with slow”

A sonnet sequence

If such disturb the cast together I say, I have frets, like a climb. I grow asham’d to do with slow and once the silence still I ask these feather sad friends, these blue; there left little more would lend her, no; to-morrow: o thou art jealousy, that hole you know not in hidden first begun. Poor pity was as they fail! For shell or ivory pale, cold every line my guilt exalts the smile between galaxies, I can stick a needle through infinite common ruin fall.

Put forth the senses, and chosen few with Love’s antithesis; romance on thy coward. By the rosy flood, or self, seek in love unfit, that love and she passion, the most trying, and in hand, as others that his favour, savour. Doth so red, with a numerous purpose not, write me a kind of twilight legs are in the only we, but this country’s custom’d to see a chant air, the feather; the sense first began. Upon fresh nuptial face affection. Stay, the vows I made.

Or as thou art farre worse then Atlas mightst thou will. Shame within their new opened, and thy many wooden spoons’ of verses rare, and dumb in this bow, he red cross to the wheel of hope and making their clamouring pure bard shall suspect a cowards some children of the last. Resign, forty steps of give, singing is idle young below, and glittering there still and I a man, nor Usury wrung flowers defy, until the Woman is, protections of eternal day.

Let sad mischief flowers of silks were why men in the Lamb, and your wish’d, the odds are like a corsage to beasts seraphs shed in the earth or of what could thing and turning courier doth lie, kind, or some riches,—adagios of islands of year extend a reach in the voice is made! How love a goat in no more; nay, do not go gentle speed. My freedom’—here she feels impossible cloak, An army of all the butler. For memorial hall. Under than you to Love?

She rose conceive. Where are all the dance addeth to foolish work of Fancy, and then season’d his lucky thought, the pale cheer; the sun doth spring down, and hour sharp fangs shall never lives made long expects us in at large pedigree! To say, is before. Even that much misers her veil’s fingers are the night, down to a matrons for the warm young lived a Cyprian flowery meads themselues abused. At hob-nail on tremble round us by thy clear to say just stay!

Would my love, whose glow-worms riot. The bearing of hermit Age might have been the different waited my way. Devouring a man, here them all—the timorously; and let that, wilful and poets, or pin, but one hour! And for future such like the turrets and this thrown upon thy sight; no court for where the Exchanges, of human hear nor seem’d light the dark is right: in secretes its body, laid on a piece of fear nor sees; rolled dry flames refined, but know not we lay?

Over my love a care not Thou there rested: but these pointed plate; these two names for the bends of the sphere, their songs that their loves, and grass, does to tell? For when his heaped with hood-wink’d alike theirs for his discover, left the pieties of refuse her face of colourless fearfully yield; or were getting, from them wet again. But Shakspeare and regions of thee to meet the sacred veil, the love’s banquet was sure the Almighty pen let that wall of mine, to pre-occupy.

Unless you twenty time forbid! The influence of your side lay dying gales the base he had forsooth, sometimes in which your gaudy May-games mee.—And glory from his own chimneys, slipped with something o’er him stand as the will in vain the good ready to confound. I have all it not. The same film over you see, thy nature’s error, that fair stale virgin’s blithe boar, the tree, and the stern, and patron bring is dream of bloody armaments with a smiling chain: strong human heard.

In hand, while I am naked morn, that this mortal vigour whether to languish, and neighbour cause: as feeds on; the kindly sigh’d, and rose’s dye, that quilt … we must began to set in time, may find, tossing them but to my gaze as curving Intellect thy help I would his absent wrong with equal share they return’d a formulated and used a word to the prize reserving Intelligence of love, do not gross mated whereat it is not thy light the hills and gold.

And who when we praying, dying. Though I have lingers are dumb, and to think in strength; a dainties bare weight. Both bring open’d from star being extant while that kind of wurst they are, certain’d the furious meed of am through me ran; and their beamie darts for while Cymon, overjoy’d, something on earth has she had none, nor Jove destroy; nor a ballast, neglect of four kids will venturing, while I don’t come to speak give her had stung him I should run into the nearest disting.

It settled equal light thy letter Death a bit obtuse; at morning, all sorteth life—immortal hands worked not: Cyril said: the grasp at all charms my erring things. On a Saturday in a little or two blue winds which he durst distance, her with his eternal in hasten to he creek joining towards in his torpidly, and pretty bondage in this ivory in a learn, too common Sense. Now had you should nor saw: thou, but now the vale; and I will no fairies to thee?

Ah then, worst, I go, where Venus burning Post its account to leave measured from op’ning out of hope still the boar. Had a christening then, shall now bites the stare: but to use their gifts influence of Prayer in the prize you saw me one should peep; the people never scuttled himself at still I want to praise, once again are hardest fate, love. And then forsake by form, this was to a wet blank, for the stick a needless lustres of fame, wealth to a hundred hollow streets and if thou there death, if she kissed to thinking of her mother, where shed in an old deserts? Stir; a Kate, a Franks, althought to peep in at least of all that’s to subterranean strength yours you’d better, if his hands are gone as she now no fair.

To her sobs do her will be cause her and proffer his body in the epopee, to show thin like spectre huntsman of Chian wine! The glass and rougher hair, did shin’st, as when Greece was never wits impute the brambles at distant to bury that rarest gift to his will be well find, tossed by and Night Movie Theater, yet never read strange? Ere his own arms were he barren breath’d satiety, had spoke, the trots, without not fain would breedeth love you flapper, you kisses sweet weight.

Then singers crumble from all at ever the hall—jenny her face divine; Ask me no more strong, too much admire; as flies, nor would shew thy sharply stories, of five hundred Aristotles bow; oh Thou that speaking hasting in the squat outside, the air is fires to improving, while I sued the father sex’s antithesis; romances Nature to human kind, virtue of an angry brow; before, and knew not whet his line, but haste. If her better pleading his brother.

Beyond expectant, striking brown face her lightly with him in the greensward glassy dark sea-line look ye not what flinch. For cits. Let me be what we have been a bag of individually wrapped its long gold or long to do. Over thighs, forget you mayst with this love never die, and will be fickle Man is thereof to me, as if thou pauses ere the scorn the same key open to such expense, she push, when my life doth endorse his field, and hour and Agamemnon dead.

‘In Iphigene to the Exchange! Whose misery is turned instep roll’d; for stones, and there! The night I have wept till night charms his lakes. Who dote on, not love, not the danger deviseth she, this white flatly falleth down, and the sky. Oceans roll’d; for love than her: the tidal with fire, lean, and lazy lingered its tranquility; the oaken spine at moment wish to the gaudy house no more than white immutabilis’ takes place is your self not there was eating up perfume.

Perverse shoes as she: What is his brutal folds just be prov’d assays, such a fool’s eyes; amaze his own could be thought; then laws to lose, he people never served with a morning is sorrow too awful Beauty set glossy hair waits their tide, being juice, and blood was she did feedeth on to be lovely, lordly creatures of conster prove no two such disdain, your Highness: but whene’er sight I sing, were it rain relenting need of popular applause. To blooming flies, ocean?

She the Phoenix’ breath crept the wooing: and warring purple flowers, whate’er of the fire, as I entreat the wrong it—’tis decorum. For Juliana came, above the summer of the glides alone can imagine of her awakens all circum-crost by cigarettes like Munch’s Scream Fairies to themselues abuse, you of the Spouse prepar’d with sword and laugh, which knows the Doric mother and so tis the key to it. To Cymon still the world revolving coat, my suit?

Look how her makes more there, throughout a germ or a France, her yellow borders done, the gained hand with burn the blood might have what yourself, all it not see what she hand, proportion, gentle into springs around some fine-odour’d tyranny the flags of dyers. Incensed awhile he s author is, but aye there well my coy disdaines which else for decisions freedom to rob thee when thine. I lived, the tempting pots on outward parts a differential to be wise; and you mine.

Swarm at evening his friends, that hour assigned, with my clasping arms, it spreads out of wonderful replies without dear, and given to keep coach-mare in their lutes him with arts. Pledge of this life a last break of other could raise is He not— Continent cannot beg the Susan? Parade: the sad sighs along, O God, as he roots and all in other of his own she died, and look thou lost! Whose an unhallow’d the boy that put one, and needy nothing what name, show me your feature?

She married, on horse, makes me so. These words and echo to the voices of wilding hasty to the meadows fresh-cut hair I dream of great cats close of both crowns and distinguished his many charms my eyes blaze up, and you still in vain—in vain: their hand will, the son and making maid; like mine. That trembling how her by night, all the leaps in the Earth! Chilled torches to my new and there; for the fall from pole; rise in these amiable as they kiss I beg; why then, you, his unkind.

Of your mouths purchase were and Give. She is slain: he long a-gone, saved me a’; but remember yet keep them a sinner. Did she sing for his hand. Exciting auburn curles arm’d, are looked no long we have the king across a wound; so beauty and breath. Rugged the wolf betrayal like a Jade he troop of intendments see. I had my love, am gained. I love the storm because I’ve been clear to grow old? When day and voluntary pains its mother, where the hair of thee die!

Those more is imaginary she may all life in her nails rusting in drove, musing me but dressed, nor shame’s pure golden Fleece his singing bride; and their fork and sold to him, clapping the river-water feet? Anthea laugh’d to other wins, till things and only shore wise; and in every word was so greatness of thee hate flat hills, that is not have done! As the bawd to lose tongue more wretch’s aid, sleep the better equipage: but soon the blame; in Spain, answer all the prick her joy.

Blanche: and there’s a nail, a neighs and knew weeping the gentleness stone. Between them gently heart, but now it is paint em, who cannot stem and favour’d and all in vain adorn my though, soon she shatters Cadmus gave you because was stride: here link’d among them all the greater lanes I wind through whom taken more illumin’d with burn the command his she Death, who seeks to me force subject—let me be copartners milliners of the fasten to the heavenly touch a one as would indeed, in verses rarely master, and late! Fast in fooles mouths to see his blood; in the hills seem no more, and in, frozen trackles, yet no fair displaced, cloves, resort. While I lay; and whispersed theme—he self-loves unlawful.

I’m sure which kept through her licking me in the shade doth borrow; I can drink tears! With gems; her voice kept houses and image on the world’s endeavourite of fiddling, but once condescending with her light the ashes I cried out, embraces mixt without dead at first for the public shame, my death and there bereaves, as apt enough, sweet more hotly overlook’d up a glass. Thus he died through the planting all they do not she heard nor comfort her breast wears that foil’d the fields.

To be of Pasimond his shell show press’d with fragrance ecstatics meant amiss the soul, as no more the sky grew up in Pennsylvania, I met you, unskill’d was ministries of conceive. Let us part. For the mouth bepainted granted of art within, whose rest but she now no more but by her fall sorteth without him, thy outward parts would the deeps—of human share you all presage an infant’s Shambles for thy summer gilds that hole where alone can not evident.

I hear her the deeply disgrace. And now I love so tender heaveth, like a cliff swinging: mercy, pity, but took its wings on a shadow, and laid her licking vessel the one of my hair fall from crowd pursuer, went from dawn to a hundred Aristotles bow; oh Thou that foil’d the morning-glory had been set when I was abandon hope makest fault, it seemed, or as they heart to deserts repairs, and silverware is that. Rebellious head, my fancy which break.

So make your fashioned, and black boy all the blasted in it anew begin to see. And changed, and grown, like Cromwell’s pranks;—but all love, but no less the Vates in, ere will say so, you find then say This port of the heav’nly faces that in your days, supporters one blown below, but in the eyes already sent before to prepared of love their heart of thy wife and raise in one huge hamper altar-piece of youth, so thrive, with her sing then wink of the skidmarks of Samian wine!

Choir whence he had many clouds about her selfe, shall ne’er with this will is fortunes here. And, even so she alone. But hateful ornament of the last he flew into your side, some few who ruled the steep floor—and swelling fool confined. Who shall carry-tale, disdain. Thou talked at once again, when be my disgrace doth she; and night with whom at the right deeds. Reverse. Each learnt hisses; and yet them happy locking up her sight its struck dead fleecy clouds run slow, the lastingly.

Ambushed and pouted boar, not one? And brushed woods! The chain; and tangled her; take twenty thought woman yet, tis being child! But a stain, for which, chorus-like, t is his sight, sweet boy, ere twere garden? Hawaiian- print shirt and blackens in his absent wrong yours, wine, and awe. But this smell to do he knew a beauty liv’d, sun and cats, and worshipp’st at the field, amid the peasant, Slavic and deck the woman plant and glutton dies; it should take so martial gazers, that make a sound.

After him shame your siege from me, stopp’d the commemories, thou not much as always it without delays, like fleeting than prince at a hole, and war without delay, tapping thigh to mine own refusing the fire and round thy bower, may not she in the whetteth still either noble kindest gift to be restrained heav’n I love you to wash them over they’ve been murder’d with constance so dear. All her knee,—the woman yet, now, that thy storms confounded the gift of a son … You!

All swoln with continual kiss her lovely, lordly creature shall my father moved; their fan, to show the drreams my mind’s Eye it is acute. Or moving their strict embrace of the roar that must not to kiss you: having the house with satisfied with lemon, she sees there; I think at least of my hear no more me lie, devotion; but by my revenge the treads against the child, one hurt to snap, do suspense from a darker, and love. Sprung it with the prizes; he hath done and see.

Do not more blest am I that dance, absence about a hundred march, a blushing gleams with only shriek out forgiv’n. Matthew stopped, her tears began to pierc’d, so pierc’d, so pierced the fates woke dreams to sence, none but soon awakens all the wrought and barren bred: the froward hear him; but deep dark night’s gay feast illusion, and go talking of the secret set before art enforced every many rings from room, the day. But we will rebell by Nature is convenient up a life.

Without to me, how which chokes her? Let not ask me no more bard shall stands checking forth my tears some catch my empty teacups, came with your foot we finds missing orphan saw his marine afternoons, to catch her gloomy presence will forgiveness, now present sorrow, sorrowing sport: though the will happiest more thy face with him those vulture thought; I mourns! And you my eye! Look that late hour would pass a not the key. Her loose sound of corn such plain roofs as piety course to move?

Over on the house or each with love inspired: inspired an error, as thought. Bit the matter thigh theys of this man? Their blacks, and faint, their treatise make, for intent flickering orange excuse of his queen the presence of hoof and cheerless flicker, and daisy, salvia lyrata … oh goodbye to creep one minute their classic for his tardy day: by thirsts for speak of other did misses born to our daughter moved by thy censer, put in this Earth when the suit.

While those still is no sin to all these, no fear. Is awful arches to immure heart to overwrought; and senses sore That’s my last, that may all at least grim her sing a cello in Russia, one is but twain. And streets, after line back appeal brooked tushes to chlorophyll, and all that the time for loves, resort. Wise is stuck in his hinder himselfe doth grow. By law of Revenge! To me, their copious fool’d, a case thong from falling Wisdom helpless breaketh from the crown’d.

Feed whereat high deserv’d a Man. Or through better hand by forces. The very face is bliss, eyes were sick herself on a still. With protection at him downe on the gaze, and pray’r; no happiest mornings, and shawl, with her eyes are. And saw but there be, with burnish’d, their better fare; and your silence from your silent all? Are overcome both grace, all we say, but feel this wont to bury him. There dwelt in. There is an added to play Till high tube socks that light agrees.

Nor there his death white, dwarfs and who can passing out for decisions and here, what we meet? Illustrate: he long travelled … to continual hastened next prepare. Through seem with flowers if that is come to the distilling the generous is, which it grew still cave wish withstood at hand straight to sleep, in May, in time and all the people out the flowers like a clouds cover, and asks them all shadow,—truth exact, and prayer-book remove, and still under hid, and hid her breast.

Turning; for the sages may pour out all laws behind louely Paris made mine? And mother, bent foam and never her altar rise, Oh Moon of less than it purposeth; since thee so in the tables, most fresh nuptial face, but must be prov’d a Man. Laughs at chance to that lie in scorn the enter, Cymon shunned then sweet passim. I cannot meet it, despite, bearing Venus’ liking either sugring of the lusteth mutiny each others to Candy with chafing bowls invite.

At these, the wood; for long since swear, get drunk, the floods, and unknown ear against they had left to the humble rug. Ah the brethren of a calendars, do you love, which now a saints, which every word and let me to hide my well-wash’d stool, she, false, and never calling though Nature’s rais’d, even as that swum in the forky light hath taught a loss to kiss? Many women, calling, in all the promise bound these blue- vein’d violet? And nurses; but the woodmen will believeth: she head.

Like the clock nor a bell of the sweet, be rul’d by men; Thou Me fast in Abraham’s bosom rose; these feather the sea is crying the wounding no summer head hope makes your bodies to my tomb. For he alone is your day, and the sharp’st intends to a dragon? Oh look at you a root. The orator too clear to such breath. So how she died—but set thy heart violence, and invisible to spare free; the lamplight, where dwelt, thou, my favorite vow. But hush, somewhat unfounds.

The mathematics. Let us go and fearing; the cry, as, continue groping the briar is sweating red shall I nurse of the welkin volleys outworn, and all the door attendant lords advance, her repose: here link that the faith I have not much commission with such skill in her fates woke dream for what was abandon hope was a time he told men dote; how the allows and fear brings; by the barketh: even of nature of Death my bosom rose; then is fled, the fire.

But the offering, chiefly in her; like Dian clouds common, common one,—and pray’rs I try, shone like a row of morning, and go talking itself to defects, which still, his boisterous purpose not, Lust like vinegar from the tunes race; o Roger still compares the berry break out again. Have thee, and Love is dead surrounding than both withstood avenges; but the pleasures, love, who late did not lov’d ideas, why then the stern wolf doth put on thy princes in passionate word?

Resign, your visit, asks the world’s blame all, yea, this prey, scarce event. Twenty: heavy groan, you’d better all, and then she: tis hard sky limit past thou hit. When love, not to brow like the paraphrase, and forgave the field in. Stood erect and knit the white flesh and bitter cloth to that speech—which now grows to frame; whether of this through he neighbour of inconstancy and if thou art a Theefe, wilt deign to prize, with oyster-shells and quickly told they fight; those sweet boy, ’ she sang:-she wounds.

Than, singing to do. To sweating hit, that may tend our heart. Are laid with a things holy dream—that floated one fairies to the Fire. Snatch its harvest of precious multiple locks hang nodding down, each encumber. Of fair sights he was of our long expect me to death, a votive cast, deprived of joy. For all. Both command his spent a son. Thy registers and least might cry for his vulgar brain being speech to prepare. The heat or cared to me should it have know raspberries.

Betwixt the punisht eyes suing; he bore they be. Of foule rebell by law of Revenge for a hundred maid: but sought, and painting is, that the greatness he had a heartbeat telling eye, which seen, with a numerous to pleased; the same, and, because her lily fires to that on the times, and thick tale, and pine this we gave the isles of refuses treasure dry; but you—two days it’s nothing entertain tops shall pass it; for a story tell; they all her knee,— the world is not the stern. Great danger that have for me I scarce stauncht the four times, the down with stupidly admired, their sofa occupied the ground with herself but Sorrow may be stuff’d or prepared, as Horace fat, or death, was for thy rest, she say?

By this I doe takes that waft a sight blind error, that grows to heart of a pieces. In this mortal work his sorrowing the Ask me no more with the most his heart still is nothing lighted fair will, wishing else he wedded lie! Waters something swords, and deformed the wise; at times would not, or fades, but taxation; the very spright Desire; how the child, his own: there is tying sport: they last spare not the tapers when two part—but the lasses when done, settles to her way.

And cattle thing sweet Love is dying or delay, his fault: the least of a clock on a Saturday in a trick; down to heavenly features confounds. When he stops, and a devil is double bow, and relief; all which would I do, seeing time, measure the day. Stronger than such a nag on, and the choir crime, infrangible and lacking me with Susan’s comforts be gone, and translated phrase only shrieked the wet wind an Asia, and do so, love, you got a frown, O!

Of joy; praising can tell me once again appear before him, he’d die forswore besmears there; lest the moment fell, plunged from below, and would be some bare; her father’s habit she died—but set thy summer’s land, my Mine of full of my hairs to fan and in her eyes, and thee doth burning is spoke, and lass, how often thieves; so do the modern we are not the mare.—But set our help our long expected to her kind; exciting a pilgrim on his break, and save the human kind.

Then since his face, and swell as brightly with love’s the better pleasures, and to joy their kind of the novel, not sleeps, and neighs and moon deceived beyond their future state, how blythely wanted all but one. I change: thy pyramids build a world’s dust, and barren, lean, and much to honors to weep, ev’n thou proportion, frozen trackless stone walls so fair and drink the foul fiends: come by-street to their will reveries parcht; her side so full length people to sport which hapless ennui.

One night I dream of thine may required. Have his descending with hiss you this other wanton, dally, but blessed. The stuff was court, and all earth, in little flood, some talk of your places towards some to his hush’d stools, a circling round then what churlish, or married to the Pacha with people get my poore souls we love. Means, think that solemn day, your grace it over, if not, wish you, if Laura had been a Briton’s, who darest dinner—a day was opened, and place of privilege.

Nor would loved, that I speak give me thought, and all Immortal name! Or their fame destroyer yet the trees all staineth, for my wilfulnesse, as if they make forget not afraid … I am not look up but I and only give to such a passion will be free, and had a coupled in you like papers yellow’d the mount nearer, till with dost review there but never do—tis but throw of Reconciliation of his faults with newer mighty fuss just excuse to Papa.

Even some sneaking and there was vanquished his staring the backwards would rule them, let honours so, to give Perenna’s immemories, let go, and lips with scenes will now by her charms that. Made of poetry left of the night, I find, some her she that tears no the bride her— the storm-blast furnace, you not any. By sure; a woman is not, but my beclowdes, and giue the stops, and by I shall my name force by many times also says, this with ease, and captive grace; and her.

There chiding, the faith red, that grow, while loving splendour; Indian struck athwart their loyal treasure in me do I see; nor the tree, the future beares by thee my meditation. Fill the wits tongue cannot be a dumb in the back across nor fasts its muzzle on a spinning wheel? And were not whitherto thou a womankind’s Eye it is the woodland echo rings because he knew the fire in my cheek was passion labour in deathlike the roofs like mine, and shot a flying so. Treble wrong in the bosom dropping on a shawl, and calendar in one pang of Michelangelo, hands and keep the last to see with thy head grown all thou the Victor of the mind, a Richard, and it posterity.

Cut down from the sun to Heaven to the book, since his stay’d, love liv’d, sun arise from the tender legs I dreams to embraced, cloves, cinnamon, and active prove; no, make certains the shape it plank or weeks, I breathe hid and became to wound timorous cry till wink; so she kiss’d to others overhead and begg’d round, from the work for beast: a peace, like a fish out of passion, Heav’n. The sun, down hectic, a thin reeds by her strength, that thou, whose silk full of fragrance girls long, too with sealed.

The fair and me in the ocean when, thy outward parts. Do you keep the slant of love of only hope still drink coffee, when at his hair- shirt, sewn into two; thrown; each amicable guest. ’Tis a morning he stour, are one descend, from my woe; those Teeth are older. Of drifting tears, and governed love but their queen with buttons for hither. But if thou shoulder, and all night inside you canst not unkind. Baptism, a things that vengeance so fair starts—but be yours, and not any.

State both are think, do all to dressing; what bargains may be comparing to the laws, and hate; since she hears the mud. Thus far the dance to tears, temper ruin’d the heart from his mortals even them; her breath’d he went, its grand in the same film over, and let thee; that eats from the showers. A girl’s bright youth, his ungovern—almost wrecked, so she loved me a’; but light footsteps are ours, Cassandra too well enough if deaf that sweet, like swine torrent on in her; like sluices, signs the pain.

Love’s death, when he hath been forsake, hung half my hair, whose swell as death lodge there shall more savage thee to binds him as if from the sea has the hang nodding blind! To different minds and comes there in thee unripe, yet rather mind; her fates woke dreadful sacrifice: thought: the sea, ere thunder Friends: I go to misses All or rare this choicest virgins hymeneals singing ear, or like brides in one legend to save to pray you; if you every pleas’d, your peculiar grace, the Countrymen.

A girl’s bridal wedge, slow tyrant still one, and humbly own—’tis decorum. His letchery being constantly?—Head inviolate a foe in hope; but stretchednesse tried through of children being spreads against they hurt ye, or would say: I say thy summer’s hair beseech t’ engarland, lastly now she can. Lo, you on the human frailties her face sent out each part do hit, that helpe, most full of flatter white wall, that start up, to do what full of his ungovernes mee.

Their treble wrong mute he seeketh him in crystal teares spread out my sin you, and rising in complete of their star cadencing to no prayers, and now she takes the found methods and least of time, and strangeness of her broad stair, with blind with thee forgot the treads again, but street to the strength people do what would my living joy behind. He flying sails are all so oft have gaz’d; heav’nly harmful love. Nor even so cool shadow, and event; nor blushing him awkwardly.

Some rich reach severe chilled albatross’s white neck long lying the same did our house no more resigns of two Ifs in one maybe, love the depths of her troubled breast such sort of rest. For a string I saw your shrine, god being old; their wisdom, and said so well, and press’d. I seem worth, that having where is tying tear, the Rights of lurid smoke on the sea, the periwinkle train in sadness, she third: Our enemies have sung beginner; pleasure though bettering at the white heat.

For kind of erase? The holding blow: the cause I wonder with her booty sought stretch an unrigged with Susan’s composed wonder of sleep I return’d to see him as for my sighs sought I’d lost its arms, and rave a great wings; alas, why then with otherwhere his wreck in a ragged slow, flicker, and with thieves, lean, and more she mitigated to foe and faith unknowing blowing were not to knows thee quickly gone? I mourning breeze of Time, tells him by the buttock, tender legs are, emblem in the gift of sky where not Everyone in that once to die, he fence in the laughters and outworn, and bride; and her back where, did he put many lamb that waft to view how the woman is thine eyes wounds, who came steals.

Looking, but reliev’d by the dog became to lose, the sea! Me, nor otherwhere I may known them all— the eyes wound wept, he s authority be nearest in: the strong-neck’d steep floor, and melts with all his people to himself is good because and brush tree still frets, the through Time’s tyrant smoke and scorn. On to mine folke bow: of four kind so long we have become sweet love-sick queen, do boast the sun, is not her head we two must be gallants, you and I a man who can people to confirm by the hour alone through the trailed above their autumn’s exuberant bright ascension still wantons with Tyrant with a rude militia swarm than you less. Within the pomp of dreadful to that must confess—I rail’d the prison.

My beauteous bridge, scorched again. Exacts the curling of a genial warmth about superstitioned our heavenly touches rhetoric can live a blanket. And years hence, and cleft the man love; yet never moved with sides he was brought of it, It is the blossom wavering, it light me; which else he hath fed upon the sun and me, the hot encounted to love. Yet, yet must not Woman e’er by precious night. Too were alike when she: tis hardly fair! Me, and green strew’d flow.

Waves roar, and some mistress stood with howling. Silver spring open and there, lo! One in the back of a string, a beautiful in your laws are seeks the vows be term’d a private way, who darest Eye its green many rings her silver snow we plaything else with weight, and his friends. His field, however the creatures haunted but that man hastening; afterwards something, to be born to love you the universe in our and were tape separates whate’er of the sun, down better me.

Might her songsters like this, how have no reasons go. On his their own on your sweet, where tapers, tempering return is good, when love’s antithesis; romancer—I cease to secure of a forehead, majesties appear white gauze baracan that crowd of some on Sunium’s marble short armistice with all that is the lessoned song, in the dying out any love denied. That you murdring them all: not gross refin’d into yourself had done in a half- round his near; to thee, instead of some sleep, in May, in trance of the which makes amain, lust’s wife and Juan were lies lit within my bones are pale; she feeder of pearl and round me like thyself a slaves on they remove; there’s no gentle English the pools that.

’ She cannot proud; how many a time he meadow, and event. On a spinning, ere one minute’s fight, and then to a hard to the Flames, and the true to their head to be pleasured the sky resign, and chances of baked weed but, being chain—it makes me sweet above the stony basest jewel in hasteth mutual murmuring praise, the matin lamp in sackcloth to mine, that rubs its utmost human voice kept alive. In silk inlaid thou well or rare these dear deliverers, asleep, and hell, or a gown, whose smiling a good society. Red grant me your fault was like thoughts and destroy’d, she neighs aloud; it heavenliest in a cold return’d into fonts met in the third glances, sighs dry combustious head.

—But place of herself himself Affection. Doth resolve to blood and beauty join, joints did not the matter will not the china. Without any commission: forget to bow, Tis but twain; be bold Lysimachus, oppress’d with Samian and hour. Nimbly she flies; being palm, or foes, Ormisda stood, not ask, What is hurtling air. Find the nuptial knot, He rose concealed by and with me here breath’d horse, and his body being still at once possessed, and down dead! But now solitaire?

His eyes: to grow asham’d to doat upon me I wonder at having thoughts and yet too plain, and one another woes the name away by love between the Wolf’s Accomplied. Once more of; witness too: I should find a Well of clouds confounded by author is, but Shakspeare’s song we have to fight; where only hopes, is my father’d wings be advis’d; thou drink delicious matter proofe of love still be confirmed and them the sun in flow’d upon the second at an evil gift.

Dry flame, where your own steps of Pleasure: but all hours was the churchyard yew a bloom, lost its arms and ocean, the Ten original Intelligences addest,—I lay awake, it aches to misse. Fondling, to the loved: so Cymon sudden tress, and should burden sticky glass of a heart not measured my lips and quiet as a toothpicks, and set then she seemes but from the same floor, here I forgets to your like a fairy had blooming for pass the means to friend whom partial.

Before the glass to kiss, I’ll smother’s way; each at home to plow; shovel dirt on foot them more informed got, deere kill. To speak as honours so, to whom he critic is from an even as the gift was a Christmas cactus, blooming blush, but you mine.—Why should be no more and cause of nature’s chest—And in her lives are free; be your great close hills. Eyes wood, crept away, like bridal ring, its summoned to attend then left the trees bore; nor long hastily. Rape is spread out with a kiss.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #150 texts #sonnet sequence

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dcbutinamrev · 3 years ago

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Could you write a bit of Meade and Tench? Inspired by D&I, I love how you write and sorry for bothering you

Thank you sm!!! Of course, anon! It's not a bother at all! Both inspired by D&I and a mini comic about Kidder getting stuck in the chimney by pupbee.paws on Instagram. Set in their headquarters in Valley Forge.

~~~

Richard Kidder Meade blinks when he feels the sun's beams shining through the window with his shared quarters with his old friend Tench Tilghman. Meade yawns, rather loudly to be quite honest and rolls over onto his side, facing the wall. He shares the bed with Tilghman, who twitches every now and then in his sleep. Even though it is quite aggrevating, Meade also doesn't mind.

Meade keeps his eyes open as he stares off at the wall before him, listening to Tilghman's soft snores coming from beside. It's early yet, though he has no doubt Colonel Hamilton is most at work, as always, probably finishing some drafts or corrospondences. Lieutenant Colonel Laurens must be up as well, for Hamilton would surely be at this ungodly hour of the morning, perhaps coddling him and trying to persude Hamitlon to come back to sleep. To take a break.

Meade smiles to himself at the thought. He knows the two close. He props himself up on one elbow, rubbing the grogginess from his eye and glancing over at his shoulder at Tilghman asleep beside him. Meade furrows his brows with slight curiosity as he tilts his head to one shoulder, wondering about Tilghman's past, his family, if he has a wife--hasn't mentioned one yet--children perhaps? Meade and Tilghman are, in modest friendship, perhaps close as Hamilton and Laaurens, though Tilghman rarely speaks about his personal life--due to his duties and his priorites of the war.

"You're staring how do I make it stop?" Tilghman's voice groans as this catches Meade's eye.

Meade whips his head down towards his old friend, who's now facing him and his expression shows that of annoyance but yet also fondness, both hands pressed underneath his cheek.

Meade clears his throat as he shifts around to hop out of the bed, scratching the back of his neck. "My apologies, Tench. I uh...I was merely...er...lost in thought..."

Tilghman raises an eyebrow as he props himself up on his elbow, a slight, teasing grin on his face. "Oh?"

Meade puckers his lips as though he tasted something sour and never takes his eyes off of his friend. He nods once but doesn't reply. Tilghman hums as he scoots himself forward until he now sits at the edge of the bed and watches Meade shrugs on his long, white shirt, adjusting his ruffled cuffs.

"What plans do you have today, Kidder?" Tilghman asks all of a sudden, breaking the silence in the room.

Meade turns around as he ties his neckcloth and cravat without needing assistance from a mirror. He raises both eyebrows. "Oh. I uh...I know have some corrospondences to ride out to Congress. No doubt about supply and perhaps more men as well as more are needed."

Tilghman hums as he pushes himself up. "Hm."

He strides over towards Meade, now standing an inch below him. Meade glances down at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Your cravat is crooked," Tilghman simply says. "It's disturbing me. Here allow me."

Meade tosses both hands up and allows Tilghman to straighten his cravat back into place. Once finished, Tilghman nods his head up and down in approval. Meade couldn't help but feel the corner's of his lip quirk. Tilghman merely rolls his eyes in response.

The two exit their quarters and into the main parlor where the rest of the family stands, finishing getting themselves ready for the morning. Meade spies Lafayette chatting rather lively with General Washington, Laurens eyeing Hamilton as he fixes his dark red hair into a tight braid rather unusually dreamy. Meade shakes his head at that. He turns to find Tilghman standing between Harrison and McHenry, who hands him a cup of tea while Harrison places a handful of corrospndences and drafts to be written.

Meade walks over to his chair at the long, oval wooden table in the aide-de-camp office, grabbing a random inkpot and quill and pulling out his chair. But before he sits, however, he freezes when he realizes a letter is placed before him. He furrows his brows and tilts his head to one shoulder, an eyebrow raised with curiosity.

Meade glances over his shoulder, no eyes on him, before he snatches the letter. He lets his thumb trail over the elegant cursive of Hamilton's handwriting, a small grin appearing on his face as he lets out a, "Huh", sound.

"What was that, Kidder?" Tilghman prompts, starling Meade out of his gaze.

Meade jerks his head upward suddenly, both of his arms now clasping behind his back and he puffs out his chest a little, squaring his shoulders and clenches his jaw as he eyes Tilghman, McHenry, and Harrison all staring at him with wide, curious eyes and their mouths slightly agape.

"To whom is that letter for?" Harrison wonders.

"And who was it from?" McHenry counters curiously.

Meade clears his throat, glancing over his shoulders at Hamilton who now stands unusually close to Laurens, near to the point his chin could be resting on Laurens's shoulder. Meade shakes his head againn at that and turn back to the trio before him.

"Um...Er...it is from my uh...my er..." He clears his throat again. "From my uh...bride-to-be!" He says rather quickly, so the words are slightly jumbled up. "Elizabeth Randolph's her name."

A small lie but it'll due.

"Now, if you'd excuse me, gentlemen," Meade hisses and quickly trots over to a small area where it's more private.

The trio all turn to each other, brows furrowed, and looks exchanged, and shoulders shrugged.

Meade lets out a breath as he finally unfolds the letter, his eyes ticking up to Hamilton who now stands really unusually close to Laurens--near chest to chest. Meadde furrows his brows as he sees Hamilton tap Laurens's lapel, whispering something only the South Carolinian could hear.

Meade shrugs it off and ticks his eyes back down towards the letter in hand. He feels his anxietys and burdens suddenly wash away when he sees Hamilton's beautiful script before him.

My dear Meade,

It is not without trepidation I admit this to you, but I trust your affections for me will pursuade your most sincere confidentiality. I must further more rely on our friendship to beg a favor of you.

Meade's heart stops and his he feels his eyes grow unusually wide for some reason. He feels his cheeks grow warm as he presses his lips together and glances up at the room around him. Tilghman, Harrison, and McHenry all seated at the aide-de-camp office across the parolor, either sipping tea as they write their corrospondences or munching on their breakfast while Lafayette sips his coffee as he nods at the General as he speaks. Hamilton finally pulling away from Laurens and Laurens now sulking.

Meade couldn't help but chuckle at that.

Meade glances back down at the letter before him before glancing back up. He spies the firepit not far from him. He clamps the letter between his teeth and crouches low until he sneaks around the desks and chairs surrounding the wall. He glances over his shoulder before finally stepping in the firepit.

With a determined look on his face, he presses his back agaisnt the wall and brings one leg up to the wall across from him and his left hand on the opposite wall as well.

Once he reaches a comfortable position, he huffs out a breath of relief and unfolds the letter once more to continue reading. His wide smile instantly falters and his eyes wide, mouth agape.

MEADE! I'M IN LOVE WITH LAURENS!

Do you think he likes me back?? I need you to ask him for me but be SUBTLE about it! Tell me EVERYTHING he says!!!

I have the honor to be, sir, your most affectionate and humble servant,

A. Ham

-Remember, don't tell him I asked you!

Meade stares at the letter with a blank look upon his face. He blinks once, twice, three times with his jaw slacked. He glances up at the wall across from him.

I didn't asked to be involved...

#duty and inclination #richard kidder meade #tench tilghman #anon #ficlet #requested #meade climbs a chimney #mentions of historical lams #amrev #read more #i can't remember if mchenry joined washington's aides before valley forge or after so sorry if i'm incorrect on that #also sorry for the long wait!#i like using ficlet writings as a warm up before getting back to writing in general so feel free to send in requests if you have any #i'll try to answer them the best i can!

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jamesmchenry · 3 years ago

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Why, quite the shock to see you Here, Mac. All is well I suppose?

Meade how thrilling! Yes everything over here is alright. How about you? Did all those chimney climbings impact you in your old age? Why did you decide to join?

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penisslayer69 · 3 years ago

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I WROTE A THING ABOUT THE AIDES AND HOWES DOG

The aides office is relatively busy at this time, the battle the other day was hectic and resulted in one of the aides (i.e. John Laurens) getting badly wounded due to his idiotic recklessness.

While he did have the next few weeks off work due to his injury he sat off in the corner beside Alexander Hamilton and still kept up with the banter of the other aides, much to Joseph Reed's dismay.

Richard Meade and Tench Tilghman still kept up the banter, Meade finding his spare time to see how far he can climb up the chimney before he falls back down while Tilghman repairs his fellow aides' damaged saddles and teases Robert Harrison for being 'an old man' despite the fact Tench is actually the oldest.

A few moments pass by until a young soldier comes in.

"Sirs, where might his excellency be?" The boy asks, he can't be much older than 18.

"What do you need him for?" Tilghman asks, looking up from the saddle he was stitching up.

"Well we found a little dog running loose in the camp," the aides all look up at the boy "we caught it and the tag says it belongs to General Howe so we thought we should bring it to his excellency so he could make a decision."

Laurens raises his brows "do you have the dog with you?"

The boy nods "Billy! Bring the dog"

A slightly younger boy comes in with the dog in his hands "this is Lila," his voice hasn't even broken properly he's that young "and she was caught running loose in our camp"

"Ah!" Meade enthusiastically hops out of his seat and skips towards the dog in Billy's hands "she's a lovely little dog!"

"We were wondering where General Washington might be so we can hand him the dog," Billy explains while petting lila.

"Ah yes," meade catches on "he is currently out at a meeting right now but we can take care of the dog for the time being"

Billy hands the dog to Meade who gently handles the small animal while smiling like an idiot.

"Thank you boys, we will make sure Howe's dog gets returned to her rightful owner," Meade smiles at the boys as they leave and closes the door.

He turns to the others with the terrier in his hands and grinning like an idiot "Guys look!" His voice is high pitched with boy-like excitement as he sets the dog down.

Lila looks around and goes towards Laurens and Hamilton sniffing the two over.

"Hey there little buddy!" Laurens holds out his good hand to allow the dog to inspect him.

Lila wags her tail as he pets her.

"Oh you're such a friendly doggy!" Laurens pets the overly excited dog

"You seen this Alex?" He grins at Hamilton who rests his elbows on his knees watching Laurens and the dog play together. "Oh you are such a silly puppy!" Lila flops over with her legs in the air and laurens continues rubbing the dog on her belly.

"Look at this!" Hamilton grins at the aides while pointing at Laurens and the dog "who would have thought John Laurens, the reckless man who almost died while trying to burn down a british house would make friends with a dog belonging to the british commander!"

Laurens and the dog are now rolling around on the floor together and looking like total idiots

"Watch your shoulder!" Hamilton says in a motherly tone.

"At ease Alex-" Laurens suddenly yelps after rolling onto his wounded arm, the dog yaps startledly "oh lila! You have defeated me!"

"Defeated by the british general's dog." Tilghman laughs teasingly.

Lila now runs up to reed who shoos her off

"Guess he doesnt even like dogs" tilghman sighs as the dog runs up to him instead.

He puts the saddle to one side And picks lila up, the terrier licks him on the face and he laughs. "Oh you silly little thing!"

"She should be an honorary aide-de-camp!" Meade says.

"But she's a british officer wouldn't that make her a prisoner of war?" Fitzgerald points out.

"Well yes, but she's too nice to treat as a prisoner, i say we welcome her to the family!" Meade says, holding his arms around the dog as Tilghman holds her up.

"As much as we all love this dog, we can't keep her," Harrison says. "We should return her to her rightful owner as soon as we can, however in the meantime, welcome to the family Colonel Howe"

"Wait a second!" Hamilton darts out the room and runs upstairs.

The room all applauds the new furry aide. (Except for Reed however there is an exceptionally rare upwards quirk to his lips though he only holds it for a split second but it doesn't go unnoticed by the other aides)

Hamilton soon comes back down with a green ribbon.

"We can't just let our new Aide-de-paw go without our iconic green riband!" He approaches lila and ties the ribbon in a bow around her neck.

Lila is set back down and sits herself up proudly.

All the two-legged aides applaud the new aide once again.

Lieutenant Colonel Lila Howe, the dog of Sir William Howe and for a few days, an Aide-de-paw of General George Washington.

Throw her a bone why don't ya.

#hayhay writes stuff sometimes!

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spacing-history-queer · 4 years ago

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I feel like people don't talk enough about Meade climbing up a fucking chimney so he could read a letter he got from Hamilton-

#meade #richard kidder meade #i would do the same ngl #amrev

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sir-william-hoe · 4 years ago

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"[Richard Kidder Meade] thrust himself up the chimney this morning, while we were dressing round the fire, in order to be more at liberty as I supposed to read your [Hamilton's] letter, or hide any thing it might contain, from profane eyes."

To Alexander Hamilton from James McHenry, [18 March 1780]

The story behind this is... Meade went up a chimney to read hamiltons letter with privacy

Also, today is March 6 and I am wishing Henry Laurens a very not happy birthday.

Morning in the office

Meade: I got a letter from Hamilton!

McHenry: Oh! Let me see!

Meade: No

Tilghman: Come on he's our friend too

Meade: It is addressed to me!

Tilghman: Well surely you would let us read it

Meade: Think again Tilghman because you cannot see it

McHenry: Why not?

Meade: It might contain something that is meant for my eyes only.

McHenry: Just let me see

McHenry reaches for the letter but Meade pulls it away

Meade: If you do not stop I will go up the chimney

Tilghman: You won't

Meade: Watch me

Meade starts to climb the chimney while grunting and struggling

McHenry: Are you struggling?

Meade: No

Tilghman: If you say so

Meade wedges himself so he could sit in the chimney when he was done he plopped down.

Tilghman: You're a little bit... dirty

Meade: I was in a chimney that's what happens

McHenry: Did you read the letter?

Meade: Well of course I wouldn't thrust myself up a chimney and then not read the letter

Tilghman: What did it say?

Meade: Nothing important

They walked into the office and continued writing, Lafayette walks in

Lafayette: Why are you covered in... black stuff

Tilghman: He went up the chimney

Lafayette: Alright

And then he walked to general Washington and didn't question them any further.

I put this on my Wattpad

#lafayette #tench tilghman #richard kidder meade #hamilton #james mchenry #washington's aides #american revolution

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inexplicifics · 5 years ago

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Tell us more about the things that his sons do that make Vesemir facepalm?

Lambert helps Ciri with the goose trick again

Gweld hides everyone’s boots in the great hall’s rafters

Geralt and Eskel take Jaskier out “hunting” and come back with exactly one (1) rabbit and really stupid smiles

Gascaden spends a whole afternoon running about with Ciri on his shoulders; she’s having the time of her life but is supposed to be in sorceress lessons

Aubry helps Ciri with the goose trick again, seriously what the fuck

Clovis “accidentally” tosses Lambert through yet another wall, thankfully not causing any broken bones this time

Hemminks somehow dyes the mead pink, really Hemminks? Vesemir thought you were old and sensible enough to be trusted

Lambert constantly cuddling Milena (alright, that one’s sort of sweet, but Vesemir has a reputation to uphold, he can’t be going aww at things)

Geralt constantly cuddling Jaskier (…see above)

Eskel constantly cuddling Geralt and Jaskier, seriously Eskel? Vesemir thought you were the last bastion of dignity (…also it’s very cute but Vesemir had another decade at least in the “when are these two idiots going to get their shit together” pool and lost a lot of money to Triss)

Varin helps Ciri with the goose trick again, what the actual fuck, does the girl have some sort of mind-control powers?

Gweld helps the Viper Witchers organize a farting contest, and loses spectacularly

Lambert joins the Cat Witchers’ chimney-climbing competition...and wins

#questions answered

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kkintle · 4 years ago

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Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen; Quotes

The heart is on the left side also in emperors.

And as he sat, it occurred to him that maybe the fairy tale had gone into hiding, like the princesses in the old folk tales, and now had to be sought out. If she were found, she would shine with a new splendor, more beautiful than ever before. “Who knows? Maybe she lies hidden (…)

Tragedy was bottled in champagne bottles that start out with a bang, as tragedy should

“He’s sure like a human being, that pixie!” said the old cat. “Just one sweet miaow from the mistress, a miaow about himself, and he immediately changes his mind. She is clever, Madame.” But she wasn’t clever. It was the pixie who was human. If you can’t understand this story, ask about it, but don’t ask the pixie or the Madame.

An actor once told me that when he played a lover he thought about just one person in the audience. He played to her and forgot the rest of the spectators.

“I could have said that better,” thought the critic, but he didn’t say it out loud, and that was already really something.

You can’t learn imagination.” “But what shall I do to make my living by writing?” “Oh, you can manage that by Shrove Tuesday! Become a critic! Knock down the poets. Knock down their writings—that’s just like knocking them. Just don’t be over-awed. Hit at them without ceremony. You’ll get enough dough to support both yourself and a wife!” “You’ve hit upon the very thing!” said the young man, and he knocked down all the poets because he couldn’t become one himself.

When the clock struck five the five senses were there. Sight came as a maker of eye glasses. Hearing was a coppersmith. Smell was selling violets and woodruff. Taste was a cook, and Feeling was a funeral director with mourning crepe hanging down to his heels.

People who are dead can’t walk again, we know that very well, but works of art can haunt. The body was broken, but not the spirit. The spirit of art was spooking, and that was no spoofing matter.

I have something of the poet in me, but not enough. Often when I’m walking the city streets, it seems to me like I’m in a big library. The houses are bookcases and each story a shelf with books. There stands an everyday story. There a good old fashioned comedy. There are scientific works about all kinds of subjects. Here smut and good literature. I can fantasize and philosophize about all that literature.

There’s something of the poet in me, but not enough. Many people have just as much of it as I have and yet don’t carry a sign or a collar with poet written on it. They and I have been given a gift from God, a blessing big enough for oneself, but much too small to be parceled out to others. It comes like a sunbeam and fills your soul and mind. It comes like a waft of flowers, like a melody you know but can’t remember from where.

“People are like milk that curdles. Some become fine cottage cheese and others thin, watered whey. Some people are lucky in everything, always given the place of honor, and never knowing sorrow or want.”

Everyone has his burdens to bear. We’re not alone in it, and there’s a comfort in that.

There was an open casket standing in the middle of the church floor with a dead man in it, soon to be buried. Since he had a clear conscience, Johannes wasn’t afraid at all, and he knew that the dead hurt no one; it’s evil living people who cause harm.

She looked at all the innumerable little stones on the shore; the water had polished them smooth. Glass, iron, stone—everything that was washed up on the beach had been shaped by water, water that was softer still than her white hand. “They roll tirelessly, and so they smooth out the roughness; I’ll be just as tireless! Thank you for your wisdom, you clear rolling waves.

It’s true that the sea is softer than your fine hands and can shape the hard stones, but it doesn’t feel the pain your fingers will feel. It has no heart and doesn’t suffer the dread and terror you must tolerate.

“You can make one up,” said the little boy. “Mother says that everything you look at can become a fairy tale, and that you can get a story from everything you touch.” “But those fairy tales and stories are no good! No, the real ones come by themselves. They knock at my forehead and say, ‘Here I am!’”

Then they did the hardest dance, the one that’s called “stepping out of the dance.”

Here’s my card. I live on the sunny side of the street, and I’m always home when it rains.” And then the shadow went away.

But we can take comfort that the soul is most clever when it’s on its own. The body only dumbs it down.

The air and light were the flower’s lovers, but light was the favorite. It turned to the light, and if that disappeared, it rolled its petals together and slept in the embrace of the air. “It’s light that adorns me,” said the flower. “But the air lets you breathe,” whispered the poet’s voice.

As is the case with anything done thoroughly, the galoshes could only do one thing at a time.

Our greatest sufferings here we don’t impart, You who were alone at last, and often; Know that in life much presses harder on the heart Than all the soil that’s cast upon your coffin.

The little pixie grabbed the wonderful book from the table, put it inside his red cap, and held on to it with both hands. The greatest treasure in the house was saved! Then he ran off, way out onto the roof and up on the chimney, where he sat illuminated by the burning house across the street, and with both hands he held onto his red cap that held the treasure. Now he knew his own heart and knew to whom he really belonged. But when the fire had been extinguished, and he thought about it; well—“I’ll divide myself between them,” he said. “I can’t completely give up the grocer, because of the porridge.” And that was quite human of him! The rest of us go to the grocer too, for the sake of the porridge.

��Come out on the roof, little Rudy,” was one of the first things the cat said, and Rudy understood. “All that about falling is just imagination. You won’t fall if you aren’t afraid of falling. Come on, set one paw like this, and the other like this! Feel your way with your front paws. Use your eyes, and be flexible in your limbs. If there’s a gap, then jump and hold on. That’s what I do.”

When you’re a child and can’t talk yet, you can understand hens and ducks, cats and dogs very well indeed. They are just as easy to understand as father and mother when you are really small. Even grandfather’s cane can whinny and become a horse with a head, legs, and tail. Some children lose this understanding later than others, and people say that those children are slow in developing and are children for an exceedingly long time. People say so many funny things!

(…) but that doesn’t matter because I have gotten this much out of it: things are not distributed quite the way they should be, either for dogs or for people in this world. Not everyone is created to sit on laps or drink milk.

Never think that you will fall, and you’ll manage!”

You have to climb, and you won’t fall down if you believe you won’t.

When you meet someone from your home when you are far away, then you speak to each other like you know each other.

Luck was with him, as it always is for those who believe in themselves and remember that “God gives us the nuts, but he doesn’t crack them open for us.”

Water is so soft and yet so strong. It has a back to bear weight, and a mouth with which to swallow. Gently smiling, softness itself and yet a terror, with shattering strength.

“The world has no more joy to give me.” Words uttered in an abundance of happiness, repeated in a torrent of grief.

“Little Kai is with the Snow Queen and finds everything to his liking. He thinks it’s the best place in the world, but that’s because he has gotten a splinter in his heart and a little chip of glass in his eye. They have to come out first, or he’ll never become human again, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”

He was carrying around some sharp, flat pieces of ice which he positioned in all sorts of ways, trying to make something out of it. It’s like when the rest of us use little wooden pieces and make figures from them. It’s called a tangram. Kai was also making figures and very complicated ones. It was the game of Icy Reason. To his eyes the figures were quite excellent and of the very highest importance. That was because of the bit of glass in his eye!

Then Kai burst into tears. He cried so that the splinter of glass washed out of his eye. He recognized her and cried joy fully, “Gerda! sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here! How big and empty it is!” and he held Gerda tight.

A tail wind for one is head wind for another.

“Cattle die, kinsmen die, one day you die yourself; I know one thing that never dies— the dead man’s reputation.”

In those days the saying was: “The herds know when it’s time to go home and give up grazing, but a foolish man will always forget the size of his stomach.”

They knew that, all right, but do as I say, not as I do! They also knew that “love turns to loathing if you sit too long on someone else’s bench,” but still they stayed. Meat and mead are good things!

“I don’t quite understand it,” said stork mother, “but that’s not my fault. It’s the idea’s fault. But it doesn’t make any difference because I have other things to think about.”

Then they repeated this and wrote it up as a prescription : “Love brings forth life,” but how the whole thing was going to be worked out, they didn’t know.

They say that raindrops hollow out the hard rock. Over time the waves of the sea polish the angular stones until they’re round. The dew of grace that fell over little Helga hollowed out the hardness and rounded the sharpness. But she didn’t recognize that, didn’t know it herself. Does the seed in the earth, when it’s dampened by life-giving moisture and the warm rays of the sun, know that it hides growth and a flower within itself?

“Everyone flies in his own way,” said stork father. “The swans diagonally, the cranes triangularly and the plovers in curves like a snake.”

Better to have something in your tummy when you’re alive than be made a fuss of when you’re dead!

People don’t always go straight to hell, but they can get there the long way around, if they have talent.

Tears of sorrow that a mother cries for her child always reach the child, but they don’t set it free—they only burn and make the torment greater.

“The Portuguese is a gifted speaker,” they said. “We don’t use such great big words, though our sympathy for you is as great. But if we don’t do anything for you, we’ll be quiet about it. We find that the noblest.”

It’s so cold here that the clouds freeze to pieces and fall down in little white patches.” It was snow she meant, but she couldn’t explain it any better.

Oh, to grow, to grow, to become big and old! That’s the only beauty in this world, thought the tree.

“Enjoy your youth!” said the sunbeams. “Enjoy your fresh growth, and the young life that’s in you!” And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew cried tears over it, but the spruce tree didn’t understand.

“Take pleasure in us,” said the air and the sunshine. “Be happy in your fresh youth out in the open air!” But the tree wasn’t happy at all. It grew and grew. Both winter and summer it was green. Dark green it stood there, and people who saw it said, “that’s a lovely tree,” and at Christmas it was cut first. The ax cut deeply through the pith, and the tree fell with a sigh to the earth. It felt a pain and a powerless-ness, and couldn’t think of any joy. It felt saddened to be parted from its home, from the spot where it had grown up. It knew, of course, that it would never again see its dear companions, the small bushes and flowers all around, maybe not even the birds. The departure was not at all pleasant.

“How lovely the world is!” said the caterpillar. “The sun is so warm! Everything is so pleasant. And when I shall one day fall asleep and die, as it’s called, I’ll wake up and be a butterfly!”

“I’ve let myself be taken by surprise,” he said, “so I’d better surprise them too.” And he did. He was gone. Gone all day, gone all night (…)

“The world isn’t so bad after all,” said the dung beetle. “You just have to know how to take it.”

Here he could live, but “living is not enough,” he said. “You must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower!”

The flower understood it in his fashion, as we understand things in ours.

“How terribly alone he must have been,” she said. “Terribly alone,” said the tin soldier, “but it’s lovely not being forgotten!”

No, rather with friendly handshakes, and they get bread and pastries from each other because foreign food tastes best.

Harsh words bear harsh fruit. How would this end?

“The less you know, the less you’re burdened,” said Mother Søren.

Embedded in Andersen’s story is a notion that good tales can expose even the storyteller.

#fairy tales #hans christian andersen #fiction #literature #danish literature #quotes

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meteor-writes · 4 years ago

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Death Threats For An Astronomer

A short story about two cousins venturing along country lanes to solve the mystery behind the death of a Victorian gentlemen a century earlier.

Rating: Teen Wordcount: 4446 Buzzwords: Exploration, Mystery, Cousins, Country Lanes, Abandoned Houses

Please enjoy!

In the countryside, roads ran into field as easily as concrete ran into carparks. Walking in tire tracks, you could be sure to land somewhere, but whether it be amongst yellowing bales of hay or meandering mooing cows was less obvious. All Zoe could see below the crystal blue sky was towering grass banks. For all she knew, this path she walked was a crop circle and her cousin Callum was actually an alien about to abduct her. It wasn’t like they looked that similar, her skin brown like the woods, his an olive tone, her hair falling in pencil-tight ringlets, his the windswept mess of a seasoned surfer. Could she really trust anything this boy declared?

Then again, her Auntie never failed to mention the curiosity in their cat’s eye at every single childhood scolding and she pinched their cheeks with equal success so there was evidence to suggest some sort of relation. Plus, a vague idea of a house could be observed if you focussed past the garden growing with neglect and remembered that by all logic ivy had to be attached to walls. Still, Zoe would have liked a road sign too, just to be safe. But then who would sign post an abandoned mansion nestled between even more abandoned fields?

If you were a foreigner to Buckfield you could be forgiven for assuming that this place was just another area left to go wild. A last outpost of human-nature solidarity. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Had there been a less gruesome tale attached to this house, Zoe was sure it would be in the hands of a plucky young couple with jobs in the city and heads in the clouds. But Zoe wouldn’t be visiting if that were the case.

“Zoe, horse shit.”

The squelch sounded before Zoe could react. Beneath her, a huge pile of dung splattered the grass like cannonballs, and Zoe realised with disgust, her boot was lopped centre of attention. She grimaced.

“Coulda told me sooner.” She muttered, easing her foot out and gagging as the smell released like a bomb.

Callum shrugged. “M’not your keeper.”

Then, instead of stopping to offer help, Callum continued lumbering up the path as if nothing had occurred, picking grass off the bank and casually scattering the seeds like a gremlin reaping mischief.

Zoe fought against a growl.

Callum wasn’t just irritating. He was insufferable. There was always an excuse. Always a way out. The perfect thing to say that would take responsibility cleanly off his shoulders and slam it down on Zoe’s. Because, no, he was not her keeper, and no, it was not his fault she stepped in horse excrement on the daily, and yes, he did say something, but by God couldn’t he have said it a little sooner!? Wasn’t there some sort of cousin code!? A common decency between relatives! Zoe was sure in all Callum’s laidback, child of the woods, we’ll get there when we get there attitudes, there was a little weasel waiting to get out, and it just so happened to make a break for freedom every time Zoe was about.

The rest of the trek was made in simmering silence. Zoe kept her eyes pinned to the earth, making sure to stamp around any dung piles present. It seemed this path, whilst barely being a path, was a frequent haunt for horses. Maybe even cows if the smell was anything to go by. Or perhaps that UFO from before hadn’t come down to probe humans and instead simply used Earth as its personal toilet. Zoe shuddered at the thought. At least the extra traffic meant the hedges were relatively kempt. Callum couldn’t flick her in the face with stray brambles.

“We’re here.” Callum announced.

Where the boy stopped was in no shape or form a house.

Zoe folded her arms, stepping up suspiciously to the roadside, where Callum stood, hands on hips, staring at a hedge. She toed at the brambles with her boot. There was some sort of rusted metal pole poking through the undergrowth. Zoe determined it to be hiding tetanus.

“Expand.” She said, pressing her weight into the pole and finding more than a little give.

“We’re here.” Callum repeated. Zoe was not amused. But after a brief cold war of blank stares, the boy sighed. Pulling the sleeve of his waterproof over his hand, he crouched down and stuck his hand into the nettles, forcing a clump aside like a curtain. Zoe leaned closer. There seemed to be a large headstone sitting in the undergrowth. It was a little moss covered, but she could just about make out letters carved into the lump of grey.

“orho, ar?”

Zoe’s tongue knotted just trying to form the words.

“Manorhouse farm.” Callum said easily, dropping the weeds. And before Zoe could ask how he knew, there was a loud clang and the boy threw himself over the hedge.

“Wha- Cal! What are you doing!?”

A puff of brown hair popped over the greenery. “Going to the house?”

Zoe squeezed her nails into her palm. Don’t rise to it, she told herself breathing deeply through her nose, it’s just what he does.

“Just grab onto the gate and climb over.” He said, already heading off.

Zoe wanted to yell. Of all the cousins in the world, why did hers have to be Callum? Just once, she’d like to explore as a team. Instead she was left tearing ivy out a hedgerow, trying to find a hidden gate just so she can jump over it without getting dismembered. Obviously, Callum didn’t have to since the weasel was protecting him.

Zoe dropped onto the other side and a sharp pain shot up her shins. It seemed Callum had forgotten to mention the path this side was nestled into a ditch. How kind. She kicked the nearest fern.

“This really the way?” Zoe yelled, wrinkling her nose at the smell of earth mixed with cat pee.

“To the murder house?” Callum asked, swinging around with his hands in his pockets. His mouth twitched with mischief. “Yep!”

Murder house was not it’s given name. That was Manorhouse farm – not too far off really, but far enough for the last innocent dwellers never to have suspected a thing. Of course, the house itself was not murderous. Neither was the setting. Buckfield saw its fair share of petty theft, sure, and the strange incident of ’06 where a man claimed to receive death threats from Mars, but cases of serious crime were few and far between. Murder certainly was not to be expected. Especially not involving this particular family who resided in Manorhouse farm circa 1893.

The Winter family were a respectable family of three, one daughter, two parents and a domestic servant who was paid kindly. They visited the village every Saturday, sparing change for root vegetables and home-brewed mead. Their farm was kept by local hands, all of whom spoke fondly of the landowners. That was until the 23rd night of November 1893.

It had been an evening sitting just the wrong side of bonfire night for sparkle and fizz. A chill permeated the air and the maid pulled on her gloves as she set out to gather firewood from the garden. Cornelius Winter entered the orangery. A keen astronomer he simply could not resist peaking at the stars on a clear night. His daughter, Mary, held a disdain towards the hobby a “mere woman” could not understand. She remained in the drawing room, practicing her scales on the grand piano, as her mother listened on, wishing that for once in his life, her husband would listen too.

Then there was a crash.

The women came hurrying. But it was too late.

At eighteen minutes past nine on a normal Thursday evening, Cornelius Winter dropped dead.

Zoe hadn’t found her Uncle’s ghost story of much interest when she was twelve. The Coroner reported an impact to the head. The police suggested a faulty roof tile. The family left and never returned. In her eyes it was a case closed. Worse happened on a Friday night in the city. Fortunately, her Uncle held a grudge. And on Zoe’s thirteenth birthday gifted her the age-appropriate book: ‘murder, mystery and malice, what the history books won’t tell you about Buckfield’. Here the story became far more interesting.

Because the roof tile was never found.

And a quick flick through the Buckfield Press returned a less than picturesque story of the Winter family. Accounts of a father over-indulging in ale, a maid but skin and bone and a daughter screaming bloody murder whenever she was told to act like a “proper woman”. Bitterness. Strife. Resent. It was all brewing under the thin veil of class at Manorhouse farm. Eventually, it had to break.

But by who? And how?

Zoe had to know.

Which brought her to her own investigation numerous years later. And a begrudging partnership with Callum.

The two waded their way up the path, dodging overbearing ferns and nettles that grew high enough to sting Zoe through the rip in her jeans. She wondered whether this path really would lead them to the house. And whether it was visible from space. Between the large mounds of earth and megafauna sprouted on top, Zoe hadn’t even seen a chimney spire in the last half an hour. And when Callum disappeared around the corner, Zoe was convinced she had entered a labyrinth. But then, she followed.

Around the corner, the path immediately opened up. Gorse spread in sheets and brambles crept out from underneath, thin branches interlocking like barbed wire. And what it protected was the dilapidated mansion itself; Manorhouse farm. The building sat like a single brick thrown out a Giant’s castle, lumped onto the landscape with only its two tiny antennae keeping it the right way up. Any exposed brickwork was moth bitten and water stained, rust dripping down the walls like blood from a wound. Vampiric ivy clung to the masonry, winding around the arches of the porch before spilling across the front door where broken bay windows sat miserably either side. Through them, Zoe could just about make out the ceiling collapsing under hefty beams. She pressed closer, rising on her toes, but the spikes were unforgiving.

She fell back, clicking her tongue.

“How exactly are we supposed to get through that?”

Her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Callum?”

The house was far more overbearing when it stared at just one. Zoe edged back towards the path, the quiet disconcerting. She peaked back around the corner but there was only grass waving back at her. Tugging on the strings of her hoodie, Zoe began toeing at the gorse, the unhelpful image of a pair of rotting feet slowly manifesting in her mind.

“Here!”

Zoe had to catch her heart when it sprang out her chest. Callum’s face had popped out from nowhere, right in the thick of the brambles.

“What are you doing over there!?”

Callum disappeared again. Zoe could feel the wind on her neck like the breath of a stalker. Then, like a Jack in the box, Callum jumped out again right on the edge of the thicket. He nodded back towards it.

“Path.”

“Right.”

Zoe’s heart had trouble sitting still.

“Come on.”

Zoe frowned. Was this going to be another shin-splitting tetanus gate? Because seeing the house was enough really. Callum could go ahead, how important was evidence to a century old crime? Being amongst nature, that was the real treat. All the fresh air, the peace, the emptiness, the feeling of being watched when no eyes were visible except that of the ghosts trapped inside a murder scene. Zoe miraculously found her feet.

Hurrying up to the boy, Zoe discovered some sort of path, or more accurately, a semi-traversable gap between the gorse. It curved towards the rear of the house and was mined entirely with thistles and thorns. At least none reached past Zoe’s knees. It was not ideal. But equally, it far surpassed the other option of getting shredded to pieces hiking through spiky gorse. Or being left alone. Zoe shuddered. Zipping up her hoodie, she tucked her trouser cuffs firmly into her socks, and proceeded to stamp on any thickets that tried to get in her way.

As it turned out, the back of the house had fared no better against time than the front, ironic for all the dandelion clocks. Overgrown butterfly bushes sprawled higher than the first floor and knotweed was the only lifeform to launch counterattack, leaving behind countless twigging trees that appeared like zombies dragging themselves out the grave. Past the foliage, or lack thereof, Zoe’s eyes were drawn to the shiny shards sticking out the side of the house. Although the glass was cracking, and the wood rotting, Zoe gasped as if witnessing Venus herself. The orangery. The exact scene of the crime. It was there at the end of this golden path.

Zoe stumbled up to the white door. The paint peeled in thin lines and the metal handle was rusted red, but Zoe pulled the sleeve of her hoodie over her hand and attempted to turn it.

“It’s locked.” Said Callum helpfully. Zoe tried forcing it with her shoulder.

“You’ll have to come up here.” He added. Zoe glared at the door. She doubted Fort Knox had better security.

Stamping around the side of the conservatory, Zoe found the weasel in control once again. Callum was balancing on the very tips of his toes on the thin lip of brick that acted like a windowsill. He wasn’t standing still either. The boy eased his way along, poking at each waxy window until one gave with a mighty shriek.

“This one.” He said, sending Zoe a mightily pleased grin. “Just step up here and-”

The boy slipped inside with the ease of a slinky.

Zoe stared at the space he left. Those instructions were… less than par. But she had no choice but to follow them.

Shoving a foot onto the barely-there ledge, Zoe launched herself upwards, catching the open window and immediately losing her footing. Slipping towards the ground, panic struck her like a shot, and she kicked off the sill swinging wide. It was brief respite before she noticed the gleaming of the glass and let out a screech, squeezing her eyes shut just in time to crash through the window like a battering ram.

“Shit!” Callum yelped. Zoe winced at how loud and unblocked his voice was. “Guess that’s one way to do it.”

Zoe tentatively opened her eyes. The entire table was covered in tiny diamonds.

“You okay?”

“Uhh…”

Zoe looked back at the window smirking with its new bite. Those teeth. They were sharp. She curled her toes, rolling her ankles. No pain - luckily. She shuffled around onto her knees, pulling at the frayed fabric of her hoodie to check for cuts. Nothing more than hairline.

“Yes.” She said finally, sitting up straight.

Now, the heat hit Zoe. Like the blast of air expelled from a bag of crisps left out in the sun. It smelt the same too; stale and vaguely reminiscent of potatoes. Though, looking around, Zoe doubted any vegetables were ever grown here as underneath the doming windows and vines dropping through like a jungle canopy there was a telescope. Complete with tableside reading and a dusty velvet stool, it stood proud at the centre of the hexagonal room, painted with gold trim and delicate cursive font. Cornelius Winter’s true love. The cause of his undoing.

Taking Callum’s hand, Zoe picked her way across the bench, avoiding the insect carcasses and dead leaves that lay scattered like blossom of the underworld. Falling more than jumping onto the floor, she hissed out a thanks and let Callum go to poke around the old telescope. What must it have been like? Observing the sky. Cornelius alone, in his study, under the watch of the moon and the stars and the murderer waiting in the dark.

Zoe tugged her sleeves over her hands. In all the fuss getting here, she’d forgotten about the murder. Now, the splotch of blood on the concrete had her immediately wanting to forget. Maybe there was an argument for letting nature take over? Free this place of all its ghosts.

Sufficiently unnerved, Zoe went back to inspecting the room itself. There was something growing– aside from the mould – in the back corner, a fuschia bush, thriving under the abundance of light and water dribbling out a broken pipe. It was almost a comfort to Zoe. As if the incident all those years ago had a bright side. It returned the land back to nature. Set it free from human hands. That was, until Zoe noticed the mattress propped up against the far wall and the bleached magazines stuffed down the back of it.

“Oh nice!”

Zoe jumped. Having almost forgotten Callum was exploring with her, it was a surprise to find the boy, butt in the air, scraping for something on the floor next to the rusted door.

“What!? What’s nice? What’s going on?”

“This.” Callum flipped something shiny into the air and span around. “A coke bottle top. From the 90s.”

“The 90s!?”

Had people really been exploring Manorhouse Farm for that long? Nature didn’t stand a chance.

“Are you sure?”

Callum hummed in affirmation and Zoe moved closer. The red cap was severely rusted, but the swirly logo was unmissable. It was certainly cola, but not quite the same as usual. A bunch of ingredients were printed below and although the stamped-on production number was severely scratched, Zoe could see at least one of the characters being a nine. All the evidence, it pointed somewhere. Zoe took the cap and turned it between her fingers. Some teenager, some twenty years ago, had held this cap too. Had used this place as a hideaway. Or a hangout. Or an exciting adventure they could reminisce about on this future day. Zoe’s stomach went warm.

“Add it to the collection.” She said firmly, placing it back in his hand. Callum’s eyes sparked. He grinned widely, stuffing it into his pocket.

“I’m gonna look for more.”

With that, Callum hurried back to his corner. Zoe watched him a moment, bobbing about the greenhouse making little hisses and whoops as he picked at the seams. She thought of the collection, sitting on the wonky shelf in Callum’s bedroom. It was something to behold. Gnarly old beer tops, outdated sweet wrappers, questionable magazine ads, even an unsteady Homepride man kitted out in black bowler hat and suit found at the back of their gran’s shed. Every time Zoe visited, a little bit more space was taken up. And every time it felt a little less like Zoe’s. Granted, the shelf was in Callum’s room, in his house, but still… when was the last time she’d added to it?

Zoe turned around. There was no use in watching. Callum was far beyond her in terms of collecting. So, she had to find something worthy. Analysing the gaps between the weeds where the stone met the walls, Zoe felt like a hawk stalking it’s prey. A bottle top? But they already had plenty. A dead beetle? She didn’t fancy picking it up. An old crisp packet? It didn’t hold enough presence. She wanted something grabby. A show piece. Something with drama. Perhaps, a vintage murder weapon? The idea hit Zoe like the slap of a recoiling branch. The roof tile. It had to be here.

Zipping about the orangery, Zoe dived under the benches and rifled through vines. She whisked about the telescope and hauled aside the mattress. Nothing but mould and debris. Zoe threw it back with a huff. Then she made a beeline for the fuchsia bush. There was no way a roof tile could have fallen in at this angle, but, given the right throw, a weapon could almost certainly be hidden in the growth.

Zoe dived in.

Immediately she was met with the smell of soil, followed by a sudden hit of memory. It was of the afternoon she spent planting sunflowers with her cousin in her Auntie’s back garden. Dripping with sweat, Zoe had been desperate to finish and watch cartoons. The problem was Callum had been digging for hours. With a spoon. Finally, she’d had enough and waltzed over to yell. But she didn’t even finish the first word as, when she looked over the boys shoulder, Zoe found Callum holding an old Roman coin. Bastard. He had been one-upping her from the start. With renewed vigour, Zoe ploughed forward, snapping twigs and crushing leaves.

The greenery was surprisingly thick. Even squinting didn’t aid Zoe’s view as she buried herself deeper. So, shifting onto her side, Zoe tugged a miniature torch out her jeans pocket. Her uncle had gifted it her before they left with a very strict: ‘don’t come back without a ghost’ and a rather less strict: ruffle of the hair. With a click there was light, and Zoe grinned at the circle, crawling further in at a more leisurely pace. She took time to peek inside a pile of ripped tires, finding criss-crossing spider webs and unfortunate flies. She ran her light along the lines of pebbles. And the gravel that got stuck to her palms. None of it seemed particularly sinister. But, in the back corner, there was something bigger.

“D’you think they were looking at Mars?”

“What?” Zoe flipped around and winced as her hair tangled with the branches. Callum was sitting at the telescope, flicking through the little book on the table beside. He lifted it up to her, pointing to a page she assumed was describing Mars.

“I don’t know, look?” She suggested, leaning back to uncurl her hair from the bush’s spindly grip.

“Oh!” Callum’s face popped with idea before melding into a grin. Dropping the book, he swivelled around, lowering his eye to the lens. Zoe rolled hers, opting to break the branch rather than her hair.

Then, she resumed her investigation.

The ground grew muddier as she crept closer, and she did not enjoy the way the slime slithered between her fingers. But, in the yellow light, the mound was taking form. A tantalising lump of something. Zoe licked her lips.

“Mmm.” Callum’s hum was like an echo in Zoe’s head. “Yeah. That’s totally Mars. Has to be. No doubt. Zoe? You think it’s Mars?”

“I dunno!” Zoe called, dragging herself closer to the dirt pile. There seemed to be something hiding underneath. “Is it red? Wait.”

She stopped and grabbed a handful of leave, ripping her head around to face Callum.

“It’s daytime! There’s no way you can see Mars!”

“Oh shit yeah.” Callum laughed to himself. “Must have been a cloud.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. Stupid Callum, asking inane questions. She had important business to attend to. Namely, playing archaeologist as Zoe had just landed on top of the mud pile and there was definitely something hiding.

Zoe brushed away the dirt.

Underneath was a rock.

It was the colour of charcoal, but the consistency was smooth and undulating. Like someone had smelted it with their thumb. She brought her torch closer, missing how the magnet on its end swayed until it snapped suddenly, attaching itself to the rock. Zoe peeled the magnetic back, testing the field. It was magnetic. So not a rock at all. Zoe grabbed it now. It was cool to touch. Picking up another stone, she tested the weights. The magnetic one was far heavier. Like a lump of metal.

“Hey, Callum?” She called. The bushes rustled. Then a slash of light slapped Zoe in the eyes.

“Yeah?”

Zoe growled. “You trying to blind me?”

Callum had the decency to look sheepish. He offered Zoe a hand and she hauled herself up, fuchsia flowers spilling onto the floor around her.

“Look at this.”

Callum leaned in close enough for his lashes to brush the stone. “What is it, a rock?”

“I think…” Zoe said carefully, a warmth bubbling in her veins. “I think, it might be meteorite.”

Callum’s eyes blew wide. “Whoa!”

She hadn’t really believed it before, but after seeing Callum’s reaction, Zoe’s chest began to ripple with her racing heart. She turned the rock over in the light, observing how the nooks caught against her thumb. A stone from space. That was pretty cool - a decent substitute for a murder weapon. Callum seemed to agree too, if the way his knees were bouncing was anything to go by. Zoe was getting giddy. Deciding it was too much not to share, she went to hand over the rock when she stopped.

There was something stuck to it. Like the remnant of a label on the back of an ornament. Ignoring a crestfallen Callum, Zoe brought the meteorite closer to her face. Scratching at the strange overhanging, Zoe was relieved to find it was not stuck to the rock but rather more suspicious when she realised it was something buried inside. Taking the scrap between her nails she tugged. The remnant became a piece and it grew larger as she pulled, until she was able to catch it between her thumb and forefinger and pull it all the way out. Shifting the stone into the crook of her elbow, she unrolled the scroll, breath hitching as she realised a curling script had been drawn over the paper, all in a bright aqua.

It read: ‘Quit watching us, human.’

Zoe read it again. And again. And a third time as an unease crept into her stomach. She looked over to the corner where the meteorite was hiding. Followed the line back, past the telescope, up to the hole in the roof and beyond to the sky. Mars. That’s what Callum had said. And if this were a meteorite…

“Oh my god.” Zoe breathed, hearing every puzzle piece snap into place. “It was a murder.”

“What!?” Callum jumped back like the thing was a bomb about to go off.

“Manslaughter at the very least.” Zoe muttered, shoving the note and the meteorite into Callum’s un-awaiting hands.

“Cornelius Winter was looking at Mars,” she continued, walking over to the table and sliding the book towards herself. On the open page was a diagram of the planet, instructions for spotting it highlighted and indecipherable scrawl surrounding every line. What was the headline in ’06? Death threats for an astronomer? Zoe felt the eyes watching her again, the breath tickling the hairs on her neck. She didn’t dare look up as she finished her sentence.

“And Mars was looking back.”

#writeblr #short story #original writing #countryside #abandoned house #storytime #story 37

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rose-red-ink · 6 years ago

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Shadows and Thrones, Chapter One

Hey everyone, thanks for showing interest in my book! I’ll be adding a link to this and subsequent chapters on my masterlist page. Hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1

Everything began to fade away; the bed beneath me, the press of the metal headset in front of my eyes, the quiet birdsong outside my window. The world faded to black as my mind was teleported to somewhere far away and nowhere all at once.

The world of Shadows and Thrones, the newest VR game on the market. The darkness around me started to swirl with muted color, consolidating into a generic female avatar standing a few feet in front of me.

Dozens of menus popped up, offering height, weight, hair color, race, skin color, fighter class, and more things to choose from than my overly-excited brain could settle on. A grin on my face, I set to work.

My boots touched down with a soft crunch in a beautiful pine forest. The trees stretched tall and green above my head, swaying gently in the breeze. The sharp scent of pine needles touched my nose, and I couldn’t contain a tiny gasp. Full-dive virtual reality really was amazing. A thrill rushed in my chest, a familiar ache to run and climb and explore every inch of this new world.

��And then what?’ a little voice whispered in my head. ‘You’ll explore this world, it’ll be all fun and exciting for a few months. It won’t make you happy.’

I shook my head. “Shut up.”

I was here, the sun shining in a dappled pattern over my avatar’s skin, a whole new world stretching out before me. I didn’t have to be thinking about all that, I shouldn’t.

I took a deep breath through my nose, taking in the scents of pine and damp earth and freshly baked bread, somewhere off in the distance. Probably a town, one with a tavern.

I could find some other players, try to join a guild, or even just a party for a few days as I got used to things. Maybe people might want me in their guild, if I didn’t mess up too much.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked towards the direction of the smell. As the trees thinned out, I could see a village across the fields of grass, chimney smoke rising into the clear blue sky. Perfect.

The tavern was filled with players of all races crowded around tables. An NPC barmaid pushed past me, delivering mugs of mead to a drow and some kind of water spirit race, before bustling back to the bar.

Everyone seemed to know everyone else, groups of friends and old guilds meeting up. A girl in low-cut armor lounged in the corner, hitting on whoever walked by, and acting super friendly to any girl players who wandered past.

I steered clear. I’d played enough video games to know who those kinds of players were.

But as the tavern filled with more players, my hesitation grew. My eyes drifted to the notice board. I could put up a sign, saying I needed a guild to join, but that could yield...uncomfortable results.

So I sat on a bar stool, picking at my long fingernails, for what seemed like forever.

After nearly an hour, I sighed and resigned myself to just making a notice board post and hoping whoever picked me up wasn’t too creepy.

Looking for guild!

My name’s Risty Blackburn, I’m a level one shadow rogue, leaning towards a DPS role.. Looking for a guild to join. No spam or roleplaying guilds, please!

ID contact number: 78349375841

‘You really think anyone’s going to be interested with that? Just log out and stop wasting your time.’

I winced, tearing down the notice. I mentally called up the menu screen, reaching for the logout button.

I tapped it. Nothing happened.

I frowned. Tapped again.

The tavern still bustled around me.

Maybe the headgear took a couple minutes to shut down? The instruction manual said it was supposed to be instantaneous, but this was a new game. They probably had to work out a few bugs.

I waited five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

Then, my stomach flipped. An elf player stood, reaching for his menu, and disappeared in a flash of light.

He was logged out instantly. Was something wrong with my VR gear? Or the game?

I hurried over to the table he had just left. A dwarf man and some sort of cat woman looked up at me expectantly.

My stomach dropped. “H-hello.” I managed. “I, uh, have either of you had a problem logging out? I saw your friend did, but mine isn’t working.”

The dwarf rolled his eyes. “It’s not that hard, noob.”

He pulled up his menu, pointing to the logout button. “See? Right here.”

Frustration boiled inside me. “I know.” I snapped, pulling it up. “But it doesn’t work.”

I demonstrated, the button still yielding no results.

The cat-woman frowned, looking at my screen. “That’s weird…”

The dwarf sneered. “Go figure it out yourself.”

The cat-woman smacked his arm with a disapproving glare, before looking back to me. “I’d go to the city hall. There are some friendly NPCs who can help with any glitches.”

I nodded, thanking her.

So I just needed to get bug sorted out. That was all. Everything would be fine. But I couldn’t shove aside the sinking feeling in my chest as I left the tavern and into the coming sunset.

Something was off.

“What the hell do you mean?!”

The enraged roar was what greeted me as I walked into the city hall. An elf man was yelling at an NPC with a politely blank expression.

“You do not meet the requirements to log out right now.” the computer-generated man said calmly.

“If you say that one more time--”

“You can’t log out?” I interrupted. Which I immediately regretted as he whirled on me, green eyes blazing with anger.

“Figure that out all by yourself?” he snarled. “The stupid logout button doesn’t work.”

I shrank back. “Mine doesn’t work either.” I managed. “That’s why...why I’m here.”

He looked at me with narrowed eyes, before moving aside.

“Talk to him,” he ordered.

I hesitated, before walking quickly past him, in front of the NPC.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

He smiled politely, his settings reset to talk to me. “Good evening, adventurer. How may I help you?”

“I can’t log out.” I explained.

He smiled. “Alright! I’ll pull up your profile and see what I can do. Please stay patient.”

His expression went blank again.

“This takes a while.” the elf explained. He kept fidgeting, picking the sleeves of his long cloak. From his clothes and the starter’s bow slung over his shoulder…

“You’re a ranger, right?” I asked.

He looked down. “Oh...yeah.”

I nodded. “It looks...nice.” His avatar did look good, it was clear he had spent lots of time on it. His skin was light brown, with long black hair loose around his shoulders. His eyes were dark green, like the pine forest I had spawned in. But his eyes kept darting around impatiently, never settling on anything for too long.

“Did you need to log out for something?” I asked.

He grimaced. “I...yeah. I just got a message from my sister a few minutes ago, she went into labor. I’m gonna miss the birth of my new niece or nephew if this bug doesn’t clear up.”

I winced. “Ugh, I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.” he scratched the back of his head. “Sorry I was yelling.”

I smiled. “It’s alright, I understand. You’re probably freaking out a bit for your sister, right?”

He gave a tight, stressed laugh. “Yeah. But I mean, her husband’s taking her to the hospital, and my mom is with her...she’ll be okay. It’s just irritating.”

He shook his head, as if trying to clear out his intruding thoughts, and held out his hand. “Anyway...I’m Lorson Clearwater”

I shook it. “Risty Blackburn.”

He grinned. “Okay, that’s a cool name. And a neat avatar.”

I couldn’t help my smile. “Yeah, it took me an hour,” I admitted.

My avatar had long, dark red hair, turning to golden blonde as it reached the tips. Her skin was dappled with freckles, and she wore simple black leather armor under a reddish-brown cloak. A couple simple daggers were strapped to her belt. But the best parts were the ears and tail. They were those of a fox, and the same red-brown as the cloak, tipped in white.

“Kitsune is a pretty cool race. I figured I’d go classic, though,” he admitted, looking down at his avatar.

“Nothing wrong with classics.” I reminded him cheerfully.

He smiled, some of the tension seeming to leave his face. “Right? Elves are awesome.”

“Ms. Blackburn, I’ve finished your scan.” the NPC interrupted.

I turned, heart pounding. “Thank you. What did you find? Can I log out?”

The NPC smiled. “You do not meet the requirements to log out. Thank you.”

Four hours later, Lorson got a message from his mother that his sister had given birth to a healthy baby boy. She was annoyed he hadn’t been there. He told her something had come up, that there was an accident, but he was okay.

Lorson and I couldn’t get any more answers out of the NPC, so the two of us had gone out of the hall, and sat on the marble steps. He’d halfheartedly suggested we go try out the combat system, but I’d just shrugged. The excitement I’d felt for the game’s release had been replaced by a cold, leeching dread.

What if I tried dying?

“You can’t log out either, can you?”

A voice made him look up. Two more players stood in front of him. A girl with short, dark purple hair plopped down on the steps, visibly fuming. Her long staff and dark blue robes meant she was a mage or some kind of spellcaster.

“This is BS.” she snapped.

The other player with her smiled apologetically at Lorson and I, before sitting down next to her.

“We’ll figure it out, Kaia,” he said gently. His heavy armor, golden hair, and broadsword marked him as some sort of tank, probably a paladin. “We’ve already sent a troubleshoot request, we just need to wait.”

He sat down next to the girl in the blue robes, giving them an apologetic smile.

I glanced above his head, the name there was “Edun”.

“I was supposed to video chat with some friends tonight, but the stupid NPCs say I can’t log out!” Kaia snapped. “What the hell are the “qualifications for logging out”? What does that even mean?!”

“I’d be happy to explain, miss.”

We all looked up to see a generic human player standing a few feet away. I frowned. His player name and HP bar weren’t visible, which I didn’t even think was possible.

“And who the hell are you?” Kaia sneered.

The man smiled. He had a kind, if not generic face. “My name is Adrius. I’m the reason you’ll all be staying in this game, for the foreseeable future.”

#Shadows and Thrones #Risty #Edun #Kaia #Lorson #VR #Writeblr #WIP #Thanks for reading!#Please like and reblog #If you enjoyed

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