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Lolliscythe
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#1
Old 10-10-2009, 12:51 AM

I open today with a snippet of a story I did three years ago... It's unedited and very choppy, but I want to test you people... Cursing is here, and all the characters are mine. If any admins are unfortunate enough to read this, please tell me whether or not the cursing is too much. This is, after all, a test.


Anyone we’d told about our little invention, Kataklyzm, as we called her, scoffed and failed to take in the true importance of our little creation. By “we,” I really mean Abunai, whom was little more than a boy at the time and half-blind to boot. You had to be blind to miss the scar running across his bronze, almost obsidian flesh, making a clear, stark-pale line from his right eyebrow, over his blank amber eye, to his collarbone. And Kataklyzm was a guitar. Over five-thousand years before humans had ‘discovered’ electricity, a little demon, barely into his teens, had sculpted a guitar—a working, harmonious one at that. She hadn’t even had a name until I joked about him, Abunai, referring to the sixteen-stringed instrument as a “she.” It seemed amusing at the time, and I’d questioned Abunai’s brilliance. I wouldn’t ever again.
I can recall our conversation quite clearly.
“Oh, and what might you call your babe, Abby?” I’d joked as I had coiled an arm around his shoulders.
He’d craned his head, and I was instantly staring into a blank, one-eyed stare. It wasn’t the first time Abunai allowed me to view the spectacle up close, but I’ll get to that later. His seeing eye lie underneath the thick strands of his black and red dreadlocks, but I could feel the intensity, yet serenity behind it all the same.
The gaze seemed to belong to someone much older and befitted a much different situation. It seemed as if he were a professor about to address a naïve student. Perhaps the student had asked his professor why language was important or something like that. The professor would be annoyed, yet amused, as some old men become when they’ve reached a certain age, and would reply evenly with a twinkle in his eye. The boy’s sheer wit hit me, and I was impressed. Then again, I might’ve just been imagining things.
He’d replied in a manner similar to how the professor would’ve addressed his student, “I don’t know, but I probably will in a few moments. It has to be unique. Unlike you, I cannot name things with such ease.”
I’d snorted at this, my hand moving down to hold his shoulder. He’d bent his head back down by then, and his fingers were moving again over the strings once more. If you’ve ever heard someone playing a guitar with more strings than the norm, you’ll understand why I became hypnotised then. I could feel his long-fingered hands singing, lulling a sort of speed-induced melody, only neither of us were high, and I’d been clean for about a week, the longest I’ve ever gone without the needle. It seemed to come from somewhere else, as if he were playing in a chasm or pit from the pure instrumental amplification.
I don’t know how long the serenade lasted. As far as I’m concerned, it could’ve lasted forever, even though there’s no such thing. Time seemed to bend according to the youth’s fingers.
After the moment had passed Abunai and I locked eyes, well, eye, but the strand had moved out of his good eye’s vision, and a smirk tugged at my lips.
“Something dealing with a chasm, labyrinth, or—”
“Kataklyzm.”
My grin widened. I hadn’t a clue what was going to happen, but I had a feeling in my gut that if I continued along with this kid that I just may provoke something wild—something amazing.


We found Abunai by the shore clutching a piece of damp wood—a plank off a ship—to his chest. Deitz, my companion practically since birth, spotted him, Abunai, first. We were wasted, but not enough to be red-faced and organ puking. It was a giddy kind of wasted--the point between being tipsy and passing out on whatever’s nearest to your face. However, once we drew near the boy, the joking around ceased.
My eyes quickly scanned the boy--he was bleeding, but I couldn’t be sure where at the moment, soaking wet to the bone, and pressed to a large slab of wood jutting out from the rolling damp rocks (it was definitely a ship’s bow). I glanced over at Deitz and gave him my vodka bottle and bent down to touch the boy. He instantly recoiled and slid against the wood away from me. For a moment, I thought that he would simply disappear.
I first addressed him in slightly slurred, soft tones.
“Hey--hey, kid...”
“Go away!”
Yeah. Like I’d do that. Something about him screamed to me, Oh, God, help, help! I need help!
“Kid, kid, we aren’t going to hurt you...,” Deitz said. He was sitting on one knee beside me.
“You lie,” the boy spat. “Strangers in this world only bring pain.
“Well, then, we must introduce ourselves so that we’re no longer strangers,” Deitz purred. “I’m Deitz Premedioushivak, and this bloke here is Boris Kostopravov.”
“You’re lying,” the boy mumbled.
“Listen,” I began. “I don’t know what people have done to you, but we aren’t going to hurt you. As for your face, we could do some stitching and heal you up, as well as any other wounds.”
“NO!” the boy cried out, cupping his ears with his hands. “I won’t be tricked again, I won’t be tricked again!”
Deitz and I locked eyes. His expression read, Why do we always have to deal with this? Or maybe he was thinking about how troublesome the boy was. The redhead has little patience when it come to such matters.
“Kid, KID," I drawled.
He wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t acknowledge that we were even there. I don’t know why I reached for his wrists so quickly. I easily pulled his hands away, but then the real fight began.
His weak appearance seriously belied his strength. The wet plank slapped against the rocks as he struggled against my grip. We were face-to-face in a moment, and I had full view of what was going on with his face. His right eye seemed to be torn apart. Blood was gushing from the cut, and his entire front was covered. My nostrils flared at the wild, musky scent, and pity gripped me.
“Leave me be, Kostypravoff,” the boy snarled. I don’t know if he deliberately mispronounced my last name or not--it hadn’t occurred to me at that moment. “I’m fine.
No, I thought, no, you’re not fine. You’re not okay. Something ripped half your fucking face off. Maybe you’ve lost too much blood to realise that, but I’m not leaving you. We aren’t leaving you.
“No way are we leaving you alone.”
I could feel the boy’s livid breaths washing over my face. I could practically taste his pain, could feel it’s sting.
“WHY? WHY NOT?!” he wailed. He began thrashing about like a frustrated child, about to throw a temper tantrum.
“Because we care,” Deitz said. I’d almost jumped—I’d forgotten everything else around me.
He didn’t make any intelligible sounds for a few moments. I released him, but kept a hand on a wrist to make sure he wouldn’t scamper away. He didn’t move other than drawing his legs to his chest and hiding his face against them. He was making soft, choked sounds. I soon realised that he was crying.

Last edited by Lolliscythe; 10-10-2009 at 01:14 AM.. Reason: finally notced a typo

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#2
Old 10-10-2009, 01:15 AM

Oh, come now. It's not that bad! :D I liked it. It held.. .. something, but I'm not sure what the word is. >>;; -Huggles.- Love! :3

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#3
Old 10-10-2009, 01:19 AM

I don't think it held anything, really. I'd just made Abunai back then and wanted to do something with him and an old character. But the style contrast between this and what I do now is scary, right? I dare say, you only like this because I'm your girlfriend. :c

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#4
Old 10-10-2009, 01:23 AM

It's not scary, it's just a bit different. People grow up. My style was a bit different, too. xD Besides, just because you're my girlfriend doesn't mean I like it. I actually like it. Seriously. -Snuggles.-

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#5
Old 10-10-2009, 01:29 AM

Well, I can tell you a lot of things wrong with it. The timeline and the character names are weird, if not retarded. Boris and Deitz's last names were weird and made up... I can barely pronounce them. I worked on the descriptions more than the dialogue, and it's the opposite now, sadly. Seriously?

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#6
Old 10-10-2009, 01:31 AM

That's fine. I do the same. If you notice, I actually type and type and type about nothing and only the surroundings. And stuff. Yesh. :3 -Squisses.- Seriously.

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#7
Old 10-10-2009, 01:34 AM

I usually have the character's thoughts do all the explanation now... ALL THE DETAIL HAS DIED. Um. Y'know, I'm going to be posting some of my other stuff here... You should have a thread with all your drabbles and stuff on it...or maybe we could just share this one. Literacy is paid off here. -=squeals=- Yay.

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#8
Old 10-10-2009, 01:37 AM

I don't have many drabbles and such. D: I only have poems, and parts of stories... The poems aren't that good, and the stories aren't even close to being finished... They're, like, three chapters long... and then they suck. Heheh. -Snuggles.- Now I have no idea what to say. xD

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#9
Old 10-10-2009, 01:39 AM

Well, my first post was a snippet of a story I wrote on and off back in '06 and '07 before dropping it. I figure if I did that, why not you do the same? Oh, I'm going to run out of stuff eventually. Same. xD

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#10
Old 10-10-2009, 01:44 AM

Well.. I may do that. May as well. xD I'll find something. So... I have ice cream. >>;; Want some?

 


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