Random Stuff From The Black Hole That Is My Computer

[Gryphon_King]

I find all sorts of random stuff in my computer and hard drive rofl. Here's some for Steph to read while she recovers from the deadly sneeze of infants!  

[Gryphon_King]

Rain

Tears mingled with raindrops and slid down her face. Rain's face. The rain slid down Rain's face, mingling with her tears. She wandered on, Raindrops mingling with raindrops, not caring where she was headed or when she would get there, she just wanted away. Away from this tortuous landscape, flooded by the blood of her friends and friendships bloodily murdered. Blood, tears, and rain. Rain, blood, tears. Raindrops all. Raindrops slid down Rain's face and she trudged on, oblivious to the world, occupied by her thoughts, and nothing else.

There was a time when she loved the rain, the way it washed over her face and arms and tickled as it fell. There was a time when all she would do was laugh and smile. Those days had long faded, their memories faint wisps of somebody else's life from some other time. Not her own. She still let the rain wash her, cleanse her of the dirt and grime tinting her skin an uneven brown, and hide her tears. In the rain she could cry. In the rain Rain could cry and no one would know. No one noticed Rain crying in the rain.

The rain was her world. She could cry as she pleased. No one would know.

This was Rain's rain.  

[Gryphon_King]

life is always better after the hardships
the grass smells much sweeter after the rain
the hand is much tougher after the blisters
have callused and you no longer live the pain
life is much nicer after the hardships
the world feels fresher after the rain  

[Gryphon_King]

.:Edited: 3/31/10:.
::Note: This one needs work too...::

.:Working on Rewriting on Paper: 4/1/10. Will update when done.:.

As the sun reached its apex, the birds fell silent at the tension that swept the land. Nestled in a peaceful valley, bordered by an ancient forest, lay a castle, old as the hills themselves. In the innermost chamber of the fortress, a girl in her late teens paced, watched over by two guards standing watch at the doorway. Silently, the pair watched as she paced, plaited hair swinging slightly at each turn, deep in thought, before removing her ornate shawl and laying it on one of the five chairs decorating the room. Solemnly, she replaced it with a plainer, rust-colored cloth. One of the guards leaned across to speak to the other and was quickly silenced, “Shh! We aren’t to speak while on duty!” ‘Stupid new guys’ the protesting guard rolled his eyes and resumed staring straight ahead. A few moments later, the girl gestured towards the pair and they exited the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind them. They stood outside, at their respective posts, on either side of the door. After a moment, the girl walked over to the door and, silently leaned against it, sliding down to sit and listen as they talked to a passing guard, “Hey, what’s going on in there?”
“Oh, the Queen’s in there doing something.”
“Exactly what is she doing in there? That was her father’s room, and if she’s in there, then something’s definitely up.”
“She just took off her stupid shawl and put on another one. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
She just stared at her hands which rested on her bent knees, a tear falling onto the stone floor beside her.
“Wait! She did what?! You,” the soldier turned towards the elder guard, “exactly what shawl did she put on? Was it rust-colored?”
“Yeah, but what’s the big deal? You’ve been here longer than I have.”
The soldier's eyes grew wide and he cursed under his breath, “That’s a really bad sign! I’ve been hearing rumors about it, but this is NOT good.”
“What? What’s wrong?” The elder bodyguard sensed the fear in the veteran's voice.
“War. That’s what’s wrong. She’s preparing to declare war.”
“Against whom? I haven’t heard anything about war?”

‘What should I do, Father? I can’t do this alone... Please help me...’

--------

A dark cloud swept in front of the great orb of the moon, blocking out the silver light. In the darkness, a single light shone. Perched atop the mountain, a large red orb emanated a rusty glow, dyeing the ancient forest bloody. As suddenly as it appeared, the light faded, leaving nothing but a memory in its place. The only witness to the event was a scrappy, towheaded young man by the name of Tanos. He wore a black shirt and olive colored cargo pants, held up by a broad leather belt, wrapped twice around his thin waist. Strapped to his back hung a broadsword with a leather-bound hilt and a kite shield bearing a golden gryphon grasping a sword. "Very well," A smile graced his lips as he strode onwards towards the mountain over which the light had appeared.

--------

As he entered the town, he could tell instantly that something was going on; it was apparently market day, but there was an obvious want for vendors. He stopped to browse the selection at one of the few carts present and make idle chat with the vendor.
“So, where is everybody?” He glanced at the elderly man standing on the other side of the large wooden table as he fondled a small carved toy.
“Don’t you know? All the youngsters are off fighting, even the women were allowed to go, which between you and me is just stupid. Womenfolk have no place on the battlefield. Their place is at home with the children!”
“I didn’t even know there was a war going on... Where’s the lines?”
“How could you not know?! You really aren’t from around here are you?”
“Nope, so what is this place?”
His anger forgotten, the old man looked curiously at the traveler, “Dakaria. Where are you from?”
“Oh, here and there... So who’s the enemy?”
“The Tarkos. So do you have business here?”
“Not really, I’m just a traveler, wandering around. So who’s in power here?”
“Oh, that would be Saarak,”
“Saarak, huh?” Lost in thought, Tanos wandered away from the cart and found himself heading for the castle.

--------

A pair of soldiers had a firm grip on each of the stranger’s arms and carried him roughly into the throne room, the door banging loudly against the stone wall. “Your Majesty, we found this piece of trash by the gate! What do you want us to do with it?”
Tanos looked at the figure across the room, with its robed back to him, “Your Highness, I’d like to speak with you!”
“Just leave him here, I’ll deal with him.”
“But...Your Majesty?”
“I said leave him here!”
“Yes, Your Majesty. We’ll be right outside if you need us.”
Confused, they obediently dropped their burden and backed out the door.
“Are you sure you really want to trust a stranger?”
“Normally, I’d agree, but I have nothing to lose by listening. So what did you want to tell me?”
“Well, while your men were dragging me here, I overheard some talking about overthrowing you.”
“Oh, yeah, apparently they strike tonight.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
Saarak turned around, laughing, “Why should I be? In fact, I’m quite looking forward to it.”
Tanos couldn't help but laugh along, “Well, good luck getting overthrown! Can I leave now?”
“Yeah...GUARDS!”
The two soldiers rushed through the door, weapons at the ready, “Milady, are you alright?”
“Put those things away before you hurt somebody! Just take him back to the city, and please try not to kill him.”
They grabbed him roughly and began to drag him back out the way they had come. Just before they got out of sight, Saarak turned quickly back around, “Wait! Do you have somewhere to stay?”

For Rewrite, check second page, third post  

[Gryphon_King]

The World of Sight

Chapter 1

Jonathan awoke to find the world exactly as he'd left it: dark and empty. He had been blind for years; his only memory of the world of sight being those few scraps of color that still floated in and out of his dreams at night. All around him, he could hear people stumbling around in that world, easily flustered by this intruder to their normality, and quick to pity. They were the ones who needed pity, not him. He no longer pitied himself, crying himself to sleep over his misfortune as he had in the beginning. No, he was different now, stronger. He had allowed his deep wounds to scab over and eventually scar, becoming callused and impenetrable. So he thought.
Walking to the closet, he threaded his way around the sparse furniture dotting his room. He changed into his normal all-black ensemble. Every bit of clothing he owned was black, from his shirts to his shoes, even his socks and underwear were some shade of black. At least he hoped...
His landlady, Ms “Just call me Lynda” O'Donnell, had bought his clothes. She had expected him to ask for everything to match, but worried over his decision for all black, “What do you want such a dismal color for? How 'bout something bright and vibrant, like red!” Finally, she relented, but sometimes he wondered if she had given up too easily and did not manage to slip some color into his dismal world. Unfortunately, he would not give up his secret for such trivial knowledge, and so he was forced to trust her and remain in the dark, so to speak.
Running a comb quickly through his shaggy black hair, hanging over his sightless eyes, he grabbed his sunglasses, trench coat, and bag, hurrying out of his apartment towards school.
His teachers had been very surprised when he demanded to attend college after graduation. There was not a special school for people “with disabilities” where he once lived, nor would he have attended such a school without a fight, but he did well enough in the normal classes to pass, as long as the teachers provided explanations to their written examples. He worked hard to maintain his pride and avoid as much of that dreaded pity as possible; on test days he would scribble nonsense on his test paper and turn it in, lingering behind afterwards to take the test verbally. So far he had managed to slip through high school, secret intact, and he intended to do the same throughout college. His professors had taken an oath of silence to appease him, and all was well.
Jonathan reached his first class and took his seat. The halls and streets were easy enough to maneuver, with all those voices and heavy shoes screaming like sirens to his sensitive ears. His shaggy hair and back-off attitude emanated a full five-chair radius around him, leaving him to sit alone in his circle of darkness. After Psychology was The Ancient History of Europe, then lunch. Shuffling through the cafeteria line, his sharp ears picked out a single, delicate voice floating above the usual roar. It was her. Staying trained on her voice, he wove his way around tables and students who grew silent as he passed, intimidated by his appearance. He slowly made his way to his usual table, remembering to dodge the chair he'd heard slid back earlier and never pushed back into place. With a sigh, he took his place at the small table in the far corner: his domain. No one would bother him here, intimidated as they were by his taste in clothes and hairstyles, they were even more frightened by the silhouetting effect the burnt-out bulb overhead had on his already shadowed form. He did not know the light was out, but it didn't matter, no one bugged him here; he was left alone to stab absently at the food before him, wondering what she must look like, this girl whose voice took his breath away.
Once, he had managed to slip in front of her in the food line. He still remembered the smell of her as she leaned past him for the last slice of pizza. For some reason, unknown to him, his hard shell melted in her presence, even at the mere sound of her voice. 'That voice...' it reminded him of some faint memory, buried deep in his past life. 'Small scraps of memories...that's all that's left...that's all that's left!' That thought alone set his blood racing and fists clenching in frustration. These “scraps of memories” were all he could remember of his past before the accident, the few doctors he had allowed to view his shattered self called it “post-traumatic stress disorder” but Jonathan didn't really care what it was called. All he knew was it was gone: his sight, his life, everything. Gone.
Twisting his wrist to “glance” at the watch he kept there for the sole purpose of maintaining his image, he rose, pushed his chair under the table with his booted foot, and carried his tray to the trash bins. 'Two more classes to go, then Theoretical Chemistry' T. Chem, as the students called it, was the only class he had with her, and oddly, the brightest part of his day. 'Serena. The name fits her well.'  

[Gryphon_King]

.:Edited 5/6/10:.

Suicide King

Chapter 1

As his vision cleared, Derrick lay in the hospital bed and stared at the harsh fluorescent lights until the feeling returned to his legs and the throbbing radiating from his skull subsided. He sat up, removed the IV from his arm and neck and waited for the room to stop spinning. Plucking sensors and monitors from his chest, he winced at the buzzing alarms proclaiming his assumed death. His bare feet touched the freezing ceramic floor as he shakily stood and shuffled to the wall where the machines' cords dissolved into the concrete. Slowly bending over, he gave the wires a sharp tug and stopped the incessant mechanical screams. Steadying himself against the concrete wall, he waited for a moment of weakness to pass. He knew the doctors wouldn't want him out of bed so soon, but he had to leave; besides, what did they know, they were just pathetic little men who thought they knew more than him. As his head cleared and he no longer risked passing out, he ambled over to the mirror on the far side of the room. Besides, he was feeling better already, now that he wasn't hooked up to those annoying machines which kept pumping him full of weakening medications. Bracing himself on the mirror's wooden frame, he stared into his reflection's eyes, sizing him up. His eyes were as dark as ever, with the same silvery glint he had always seen, if a little less brilliant than before. That was the medicine dulling his eyes, as well as his mind. A little fresh air and a few more hours off of the medications and he would be back to his old, sharp self. His bleached hair had grown shaggier during his stay, casting a childish air about him; he almost looked his age. A pair of scissors would take care of that. His black roots were growing out as well. He had his mother to thank for that annoying feature; his father's hair was a white blond. His mother was the only one to have dark hair. He ran his hand through his ragged locks, pushing them out of his eyes. He had lost some weight; his already pale, gaunt features looked even more deathlike. His skin clung to his face like some artist's idea of Death, with black eyes sunk into hollow gaps in his skull. His thin shoulders shook as he sighed, ‘So close to death, and yet so far away.’ He had always had a slender frame, smaller than most his age, but also stronger. No one took him to be as strong as he was, not with that size, but he also hadn't ever needed to show his true strength to keep others at bay. Where his shocking appearance failed, his status succeeded. He would have to do something about the hospital gown though; it was not fit for a prince such as him. He found the folded pile of clothes left for him by his bodyguard and quickly exchanged the pathetic gown for chained black cargo pants and equally chained, leather motorcycle boots. He slipped a matching leather vest over a plain white T-shirt and returned to the mirror. He felt stronger already. He ran his hands through his hair once more, to style it as best he could, and reached for his sunglasses. He froze instantly. His icy breath caught in his chest and froze his already hardened heart. There, in the reflection of the mirrored lenses, he glimpsed his mother. Panicked, he spun around, knocking the glasses to the floor, and frantically searched the wall behind him. It was empty. With a shaky sigh, he relaxed. Softly chiding himself for his childishness, he bent to retrieve the glasses, hesitating before snatching them from the hard floor and shoving them on the bridge of his nose. Turning for a final glance in the mirror, he strode to the door and jerked it open.
He didn’t have to look far to find the man he was searching for sitting on the bench beside the door. “Where is that insolent guard when I need him?” Derrick muttered under his breath before facing the tall, lanky figure that rose and reached out a hand. This was the man who had stopped him?! This scrawny little twig?! Ignoring the outstretched hand, he roughly grabbed the intruder by the shirtfront and slammed him against the opposite wall.
“How dare you!” Derrick growled at the man, eyeing him over dark lenses and baring his father’s sharp ivory teeth.
The gaunt man trembled at the sight of this miniature Death, “Wh-what are you talking about? What did I do?”
Derrick shoved him harder against the wall, releasing his anger and drinking in the fear from the man’s eyes. 'The quivering little fool'
The sound of steel-toed boots rang through the hall as a sturdy-built man in black ran towards the pair, laying a hand on Derrick's arm, “Sire, that would not be wise. He was only trying to help.”
'Now he shows up...' “Hmph.” He stared deep into the thin man’s eyes, seemingly into his soul. “You aren't worth my time. Just be warned, never cross my path again. Next time, I may not show restraint.” Emphasizing his statement, Derrick pressed the man harder against the concrete wall before letting him drop and walking towards the elevators. Relishing the feel of adrenaline rushing through him, clearing his head of the medications, he kept the door open for the muscular giant who followed him.
“He was only trying to help, Sire.”
“If he wanted to help, he would've stayed out my way.”  

[Gryphon_King]

Her name was Sarah and she was fifteen minutes late. I sat beneath a muted yellow light in a corner booth facing the entirety of the restaurant, waiting. From my vantage point, I watched as couples streamed in and out between the dimmed room and the lit parking lot. A single bright bulb hung from the center of the room, creating a spotlight on the table beneath it. It was meant to be muted, like the others, but a thick yellow, frosted-glass shade, but this had broken and not yet been replaced, leaving this single, glaring light to stand alone against the crowed of tamed light. It was during a lull in the flow of bodies when they stormed in. they looked to be in their early thirties, and married according to the bands reflecting golden light. When they breached the inner door, they donned tense smiles, glaring at each other and spurting continuations of their argument through grimacing smiles behind the waiter’s back. They took their seats beneath the bare bulb and, when the waiter left to fetch their drinks, proceeded to whisper harshly across the table, ignoring the menus before them. Glancing occasionally at my wrist, I watched the scene before me unfold. The waiter returned with their drinks and, gesturing to their menus, asked if they were ready to order. This time, the argument did not pause, but continued, tensions rising; they were harsher now, biting at each other. The waiter had no choice but to join the ranks of spectators. Tensions rose further and the restaurant fell silent, all eyes on the couple lost in their argument. Plates of steaming food cooled before the onlookers, but they dared not tear their eyes away for fear of missing a moment’s action. Every gesture, every slight movement, was marked, memorized, by the crowd’s dim eyes. They were shouting now, and screaming. Another couple entered the glass hall, glimpsed the scene, and quickly backpedaled out the door, returning to their car to find some other, more peaceful, establishment. Tempers flaring, the central couple raged on. A calm chef emerged form the kitchen, curious at the source of such commotion. Maintaining a calm air, perfected by countless dinner rushes, the interloper shooed the quarrelsome pair from his restaurant. The audience retained its tense, silent state, eyes darting around the room, searching for some sign to resume their forgotten meals. The sign spotted, activity continued, as if the intrusion had never been. I glanced at my watch, an hour late; she wasn’t coming. I paid my meager bill, left a tip, and strolled out the same doors the couple had vanished through.  

[Gryphon_King]

Atop a golden mountaintop, the eagles cried in greeting to the morning. A tiny harvest mouse twitched its whiskered muzzle as it nibbled on a dandelion. The rising sun glinted off the fresh dew like tiny stars in a moonlit sky. But, all the beauty of a mountain morning was lost upon two figures running across the dewy plain, and those within the marble fortress perched atop the peak of the mountain, like a castle upon a cake. Inside the great citadel all were asleep, except twelve, ten of which were in a deeper sleep caused by a blade, and two more were conversing in the royal bedchamber.
“Milord, I…I don’t know what happened! He just…vanished!”
“What do you mean, he vanished! He couldn’t have, ten guards were stationed outside his cell!”
“They were…killed.”
“By whom? He couldn’t have defeated them by himself, he was half-dead!”
“May I offer my opinion?”
“Sure. What do you think?”
“I believe his sister might have had something to do with it.”
“She couldn’t have done it, no one could’ve. The guards that were guarding his cell were the best in the country!”
“Well…they aren’t anymore, now whoever it was that killed them is.”
“Hmm…rally the troops and search for him, I want him alive.”
“Yes, milord. What if she is with him?”
“Capture her too while you’re at it.”
“Yes, Milord.”
“Oh…and by the way, you do know what will happen if you fail don’t you?”
“Umm...no, Milord...”
“I will personally chop you up, bit by bit, starting with your legs and moving upwards, and force the pieces down your throat! Understand?”
“Yes, Milord, as you say”

Far away from the fortress, the two figures trudged on through the frigid water, the smallest supporting the other, “Just a little farther. We’re almost there, just hang on a little longer.” She was trying to encourage herself as well as her brother; he was no lightweight. After a few more minutes that seemed like days, she saw what she was looking for