. . . What is love that is drives us crazy?
Makes us go mad so we can't see straight?
What is love that it's so confusing?
Is there a way to fix our plight?
(I don't know what I was thinking to end that chorus with the word "plight". Ugh! Drama.)
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A Legacy Unanswered
This poem was inspired by a news story I heard on the radio. It is a work in progress. This is the portfolio version.
A Legacy Unanswered
The old man was dead.
His son sat outside.
A song in his head and
a tackle box by his side.
The tackle box was full
Of hooks and of strings
No truths and no answers
Just bobbers and things.
The song in his head
was an old stupid tune
sung to put him to bed
at night in his room.
The box in his hand
And the song in his head
the pitiful legacy of
the man who was dead.
It was here on the stoop
Of the funeral hall
the son saw he didn’t
know his father at all.
The father never told
the son what he loved
he never told talked about
what he was proud of.
The son sat awhile
And hated his father
fighting back bile and
hating his father.
Just as the past
looked terribly grim
the man’s own little son
came and sat down by him.
All of the sudden
it struck him like lightening
The flash that he had
grotesquely enlightening
“When I’m dead,”
thought the man with despair
“How will my own
son’s experience compare?”
What will I leave him,
but old songs and bait?
How can I stop him
from sharing this fate.
That night he wrote a
letter like no letter before.
A letter of love
to the boy he adored.
I’ll leave it to him
and when I am gone
He’ll know of a
father who loved his son.
From now ‘til that day
Though, I’ll show him I care
Whenever he needs me
I’ll always be there.
A Legacy Unanswered
The old man was dead.
His son sat outside.
A song in his head and
a tackle box by his side.
The tackle box was full
Of hooks and of strings
No truths and no answers
Just bobbers and things.
The song in his head
was an old stupid tune
sung to put him to bed
at night in his room.
The box in his hand
And the song in his head
the pitiful legacy of
the man who was dead.
It was here on the stoop
Of the funeral hall
the son saw he didn’t
know his father at all.
The father never told
the son what he loved
he never told talked about
what he was proud of.
The son sat awhile
And hated his father
fighting back bile and
hating his father.
Just as the past
looked terribly grim
the man’s own little son
came and sat down by him.
All of the sudden
it struck him like lightening
The flash that he had
grotesquely enlightening
“When I’m dead,”
thought the man with despair
“How will my own
son’s experience compare?”
What will I leave him,
but old songs and bait?
How can I stop him
from sharing this fate.
That night he wrote a
letter like no letter before.
A letter of love
to the boy he adored.
I’ll leave it to him
and when I am gone
He’ll know of a
father who loved his son.
From now ‘til that day
Though, I’ll show him I care
Whenever he needs me
I’ll always be there.
Write within the lines
This is another one with 2 versions. The subject is the same. The 1st version is about rhythm. The second one...well...
Write within the Lines (Original)
The words were put in quarantine
to curb the wild ink.
With strictest eye examining
the poem took its shape.
When all were ordered perfectly
the stopper was released.
And like water all the words
marched smoothly down the sink.
Write Within the Lines (portfolio Version)
The words were pushed through presses
Then made stand in lines.
In stanzas neatly organized
With carefully crafted rhymes.
The words were given marching
Orders and structured stringently.
Pressed and tidy, spit and shined
They stood for reveille.
Soon all were ordered perfectly
And ready to advance.
Pen was put to paper and
Hmm… A.W.O.L.
Write within the Lines (Original)
The words were put in quarantine
to curb the wild ink.
With strictest eye examining
the poem took its shape.
When all were ordered perfectly
the stopper was released.
And like water all the words
marched smoothly down the sink.
Write Within the Lines (portfolio Version)
The words were pushed through presses
Then made stand in lines.
In stanzas neatly organized
With carefully crafted rhymes.
The words were given marching
Orders and structured stringently.
Pressed and tidy, spit and shined
They stood for reveille.
Soon all were ordered perfectly
And ready to advance.
Pen was put to paper and
Hmm… A.W.O.L.
A cord of two
This poem was also written for my Creative writing class. This is the portfolio version. The original was incomplete.
A Cord of Two
Runaway, the girl is loathe to stop.
She runs until she has to drop.
She finds she has no place to hide.
Down she drops nearby the tide,
On sand so rough she makes her bed
Sad and lonely rests her head
And there he finds the girl alone.
The pain he sees reflects his own.
His wife her mother dead and gone,
He and she had both withdrawn.
The girl he needs now by his side
His child, his heart, his joy his pride.
Home he carries in his strong embrace
His precious child with an angel’s face
The child wakes, opens her eyes
Sees her father, begins to cry
“I didn’t think you’d come for me,”
with tear bright eyes she wept, and he
heartbroken by his child’s tears
said quickly to assuage her fears
“I love you more than heaven and earth.
“I’ve loved since before your birth
“You are the beating of my heart
If you’ll give me a second start
All the rest of my days, I’ll show
wherever you need me I will go.
My child, it is time you knew
What matters most to me, is you.
A Cord of Two
Runaway, the girl is loathe to stop.
She runs until she has to drop.
She finds she has no place to hide.
Down she drops nearby the tide,
On sand so rough she makes her bed
Sad and lonely rests her head
And there he finds the girl alone.
The pain he sees reflects his own.
His wife her mother dead and gone,
He and she had both withdrawn.
The girl he needs now by his side
His child, his heart, his joy his pride.
Home he carries in his strong embrace
His precious child with an angel’s face
The child wakes, opens her eyes
Sees her father, begins to cry
“I didn’t think you’d come for me,”
with tear bright eyes she wept, and he
heartbroken by his child’s tears
said quickly to assuage her fears
“I love you more than heaven and earth.
“I’ve loved since before your birth
“You are the beating of my heart
If you’ll give me a second start
All the rest of my days, I’ll show
wherever you need me I will go.
My child, it is time you knew
What matters most to me, is you.
Pennmanship
I wrote two versions of this poem. I had to make changes when I turned it in for my portfolio. Which do you like best?
Penmanship (Original Version)
In her hand the pencil is an ice skater.
gracefully sliding over the ice
circles and figure-eights
Flowingly, languorously, effortlessly
Spinning and gliding along the ice
Tracing the beautiful shapes.
In my hand the pencil is an idiot child
with a limp
and tourette’s.
It stumbles and twists.
Blundering,bumbling, bungling about.
Tripping and spasming
And making a mess.
Penmanship (portfolio version)
Her hand with the pencil is an ice skater.
gracefully sliding over the ice
circles and figure-eights
Languorous spirals, effortless turns
Spinning and gliding along
Tracing beautiful shapes.
My hand with the pencil is an idiot child
limping
with tourette’s.
It stumbles and twists.
Blundering, bumbling, bungling about.
Tripping and spasming
And making a mess.
Penmanship (Original Version)
In her hand the pencil is an ice skater.
gracefully sliding over the ice
circles and figure-eights
Flowingly, languorously, effortlessly
Spinning and gliding along the ice
Tracing the beautiful shapes.
In my hand the pencil is an idiot child
with a limp
and tourette’s.
It stumbles and twists.
Blundering,bumbling, bungling about.
Tripping and spasming
And making a mess.
Penmanship (portfolio version)
Her hand with the pencil is an ice skater.
gracefully sliding over the ice
circles and figure-eights
Languorous spirals, effortless turns
Spinning and gliding along
Tracing beautiful shapes.
My hand with the pencil is an idiot child
limping
with tourette’s.
It stumbles and twists.
Blundering, bumbling, bungling about.
Tripping and spasming
And making a mess.
Named for an angel
This is another story I wrote for creative writing. Again, the formatting on Blogger sucks.
Named for an Angel
The freckled boy went slowly. He looked at each face before choosing. Finally, he made his decision. “Can I get this one, Dad?” The boy’s father leaned close.
“You sure?”
The boy pulled the doll off the shelf and held it to his chest. “Yeah. This is the best one.”
The father and son moved to another part of the store. “You can pick any shoes you want,” The father said to son.
The boy looked slowly at each pair. He looked at red shoes and blue shoes and white shoes. “Dad?” the boy looked at his father, “Do you think it would be alright to pick two pairs? One for church and one for playing?” The father smiled at his son.
“Yes, son, that would be fine.”
The boy picked a very shiny pair of dress shoes and a really cool pair of sneakers. He put the shoes in the shopping cart.
The two continued through the store. The boy picked out a few new shirts, a couple pairs of pants, and some dress clothes. Together, father and son looked at sizes and picked out new socks and underwear.
Finally, they picked everything they needed and took their full shopping cart to the front of the store. A clerk in a red apron rang up the order. As the father was paying for the clothes, his son handed him a fistful of bills. The father looked down at the boy. His son stood with his little superhero wallet in his hand. He had removed all of the money he had saved and now handed to his father. “Son,” the father started, a bit emotional, “You don’t have to pay for anything.”
“I know, Dad,” the child responded, “but I want to buy the doll, myself.”
The father roughed up the boy’s hair and handed the bills to the cashier. The cashier smiled and gave him his receipt.
In the car, the father couldn’t help but smile at his son. He was so proud of the child sitting next to him. The father squeezed his son’s hand as he drove down a darkened street.
When they pulled up in front of the house, a neighborhood dog began to bark. The son carried the doll to the house and the father carried the new clothes. The man rang the doorbell.
A woman with bright eyes opened the door. “Gabby, your friend Michael, and his dad are here to see you.” A little girl with dark hair ran into the living room as her aunt let Michael and his father inside.
“Hi, Michael,” Gabby called cheerily.
“Hi, Gabby,” Michael said smiling, “I’m really sorry, your house burned down.”
Gabby’s eyes looked sad for only a second. Her aunt sniffed. “It’s okay,” Gabby said bravely, “We are safe and even my dog is, too.”
“That’s good,” Michael said, “My dad said all your stuff got burned up.”
“Yeah,” Gabby replied sadly.
“We brought you some nice clothes,” Michael indicated the bags his father held, “And I brought you this doll. I hope you like her, she was the most beautiful one.”
Michael’s father felt his throat constrict as Gabby took the doll from Michael. “I do,” she replied earnestly, “She is the most beautiful doll, ever.”
Named for an Angel
The freckled boy went slowly. He looked at each face before choosing. Finally, he made his decision. “Can I get this one, Dad?” The boy’s father leaned close.
“You sure?”
The boy pulled the doll off the shelf and held it to his chest. “Yeah. This is the best one.”
The father and son moved to another part of the store. “You can pick any shoes you want,” The father said to son.
The boy looked slowly at each pair. He looked at red shoes and blue shoes and white shoes. “Dad?” the boy looked at his father, “Do you think it would be alright to pick two pairs? One for church and one for playing?” The father smiled at his son.
“Yes, son, that would be fine.”
The boy picked a very shiny pair of dress shoes and a really cool pair of sneakers. He put the shoes in the shopping cart.
The two continued through the store. The boy picked out a few new shirts, a couple pairs of pants, and some dress clothes. Together, father and son looked at sizes and picked out new socks and underwear.
Finally, they picked everything they needed and took their full shopping cart to the front of the store. A clerk in a red apron rang up the order. As the father was paying for the clothes, his son handed him a fistful of bills. The father looked down at the boy. His son stood with his little superhero wallet in his hand. He had removed all of the money he had saved and now handed to his father. “Son,” the father started, a bit emotional, “You don’t have to pay for anything.”
“I know, Dad,” the child responded, “but I want to buy the doll, myself.”
The father roughed up the boy’s hair and handed the bills to the cashier. The cashier smiled and gave him his receipt.
In the car, the father couldn’t help but smile at his son. He was so proud of the child sitting next to him. The father squeezed his son’s hand as he drove down a darkened street.
When they pulled up in front of the house, a neighborhood dog began to bark. The son carried the doll to the house and the father carried the new clothes. The man rang the doorbell.
A woman with bright eyes opened the door. “Gabby, your friend Michael, and his dad are here to see you.” A little girl with dark hair ran into the living room as her aunt let Michael and his father inside.
“Hi, Michael,” Gabby called cheerily.
“Hi, Gabby,” Michael said smiling, “I’m really sorry, your house burned down.”
Gabby’s eyes looked sad for only a second. Her aunt sniffed. “It’s okay,” Gabby said bravely, “We are safe and even my dog is, too.”
“That’s good,” Michael said, “My dad said all your stuff got burned up.”
“Yeah,” Gabby replied sadly.
“We brought you some nice clothes,” Michael indicated the bags his father held, “And I brought you this doll. I hope you like her, she was the most beautiful one.”
Michael’s father felt his throat constrict as Gabby took the doll from Michael. “I do,” she replied earnestly, “She is the most beautiful doll, ever.”
Dark Hall
This is a short story I wrote for a creative writing class. Please forgive the formatting. Blogger doesn't like paragraphs.
The Dark Hall
There is a dark hall in Emily’s house. As long as she can remember, there has never been a bulb in the fixture. She and her brother play a game. They always get through the hall as quickly as possible. They walk very fast. Running is not allowed in Emily’s house.
The darkness holds secrets. Emily and her brother know that, for sure. The floor is treacherous and the walls whisper. Probably, a ghost lives in the hall. Probably, a troll lives under the floor.
Mom says there is no ghost and no troll. Dad says he has two silly-monkey children who watch too much T.V. Of course, Emily and her brother realize that Mom and Dad are too old to know the truth. You forget what is real when you get married. Mary Hingle, who lives next door, says “Parents don’t know what’s real because sex boggles their brains too much.” Emily and her brother aren’t quite sure what that means, but it sounds just about right.
Mary Hingle says she is very brave. Mary Hingle won’t walk down the dark hall. Mary Hingle isn’t very brave at all. She isn’t like Emily and her brother. Not only are they the bravest, smartest children in the neighborhood, they are “aloof and calmly aware.” Emily read a book once about a secret agent who was “aloof and calmly aware.” Emily told her brother all about it. He agreed that it was very important to discipline themselves in the art of aloofness and calm awareness. They spent the next week devoted to becoming “aloof and calmly aware.” They felt they had pretty well mastered it.
It is summer vacation. The days are long and hot. Emily and her brother are getting bored. They have finished the puzzle books they got last Christmas from their kissy-faced aunt Anna. They have beaten every level of “Ghost Buddies II: The Haunted School” and even the bad guy at the end. They have watched every single episode of “M.A.R.K. 2.0”.
It’s a Tuesday afternoon. Emily is sitting upside-down on the overstuffed couch with her head hanging down and her hair on the floor. Her brother sitting on the step stool he still needs in order to reach the bathroom sink. He is playing “Jep’s Lettuce Factory” on his game console and sucking because he won’t listen to her and buy a tractor with two towing things. He is not as aloof as her.
As Emily sits there, being aloof and annoyed, she realizes the terrible mistake. Quickly, she rolls off the couch and hurries to the colorful bookshelf in the corner of the room. Her eyes scan the titles until she finds the book she is looking for. She carries the book to her small white desk and flips it open. Her mind spins as she sees the magnitude of the terrible mistake.
Emily calls to her brother to pause the game. He does and she brings the book over and flops it open in front of him on the floor. He looks at her expectantly and she whispers into his ear. His eyes grow wide as he realizes she is right. There is a terrible mistake.
It is inconceivable that such brilliant and calmly aware children have not realized it before. Emily feels dumb. Her brother feels irresponsible. Both children are painfully aware that they must take action. They sit together for several minutes and converse in hushed tones. Together, they come up with a plan. Emily makes a list of all the things they will need. Her brother goes to find duct tape, a magic staff and fresh spring water, while Emily searches for find a rough bit of canvas, bedrolls and some vittles.
After gathering the supplies, the two wonderful children stand poised in the kitchen. Emily aloofly looks at her brother. Her brother calmly and awaredly takes her hand. Together the two children take a brave, purposeful step into the dark hall. This time they do not hurry. Hurrying is the mistake they have made all along. The two siblings are shakey, not because they are afraid, of course, but because of the fierce wind that is blowing about them. The two stalwart heroes move slowly to the middle of the hall.
This is about where the ghost must live. Very bravely, they use the canvas and the tape to build a shelter and crawl inside. Emily puts out the bedrolls and the children sit close together for warmth. After sitting in silence for a long, long time, the two children, who are starving and freezing to death crawl inside the bedrolls and eat the provisions they have gathered.
Just as they are finishing up it happens. The ghost begins to moan. Then the shelter collapses and the frightened children scream as something huge and heavy drops on them from above. Emily, thinking quickly, grabs the magic staff and waves it at the ferocious thing. The ferocious thing growls and sits up looking right at Emily.
“Emily Elizabeth Nelson, what on earth are you doing?” Emily’s mother grabs the broom that Emily has aimed at her. She struggles to free herself from the bed sheet she is tangled up in. “Why did you tape a bed sheet to the wall?”
Emily knows her mother will not understand about the terrible mistake. She tries to explain the brave plan in simple terms, “We had to lure the troll out so the ghost would eat him.” Emily’s mother stops frowning. She begins to laugh instead.
“Did it work?” She asks. Emily nods her head. “Good. Take your sheets and blankets back to your bed, and I will make you a lunch that consists of more than dinner rolls and bottled water.”
Emily and her brother exchange confused looks. Then, quietly they take the bedrolls and canvas to the storage facility and trudge back to the kitchen for lunch with the craziest mom ever.
The Dark Hall
There is a dark hall in Emily’s house. As long as she can remember, there has never been a bulb in the fixture. She and her brother play a game. They always get through the hall as quickly as possible. They walk very fast. Running is not allowed in Emily’s house.
The darkness holds secrets. Emily and her brother know that, for sure. The floor is treacherous and the walls whisper. Probably, a ghost lives in the hall. Probably, a troll lives under the floor.
Mom says there is no ghost and no troll. Dad says he has two silly-monkey children who watch too much T.V. Of course, Emily and her brother realize that Mom and Dad are too old to know the truth. You forget what is real when you get married. Mary Hingle, who lives next door, says “Parents don’t know what’s real because sex boggles their brains too much.” Emily and her brother aren’t quite sure what that means, but it sounds just about right.
Mary Hingle says she is very brave. Mary Hingle won’t walk down the dark hall. Mary Hingle isn’t very brave at all. She isn’t like Emily and her brother. Not only are they the bravest, smartest children in the neighborhood, they are “aloof and calmly aware.” Emily read a book once about a secret agent who was “aloof and calmly aware.” Emily told her brother all about it. He agreed that it was very important to discipline themselves in the art of aloofness and calm awareness. They spent the next week devoted to becoming “aloof and calmly aware.” They felt they had pretty well mastered it.
It is summer vacation. The days are long and hot. Emily and her brother are getting bored. They have finished the puzzle books they got last Christmas from their kissy-faced aunt Anna. They have beaten every level of “Ghost Buddies II: The Haunted School” and even the bad guy at the end. They have watched every single episode of “M.A.R.K. 2.0”.
It’s a Tuesday afternoon. Emily is sitting upside-down on the overstuffed couch with her head hanging down and her hair on the floor. Her brother sitting on the step stool he still needs in order to reach the bathroom sink. He is playing “Jep’s Lettuce Factory” on his game console and sucking because he won’t listen to her and buy a tractor with two towing things. He is not as aloof as her.
As Emily sits there, being aloof and annoyed, she realizes the terrible mistake. Quickly, she rolls off the couch and hurries to the colorful bookshelf in the corner of the room. Her eyes scan the titles until she finds the book she is looking for. She carries the book to her small white desk and flips it open. Her mind spins as she sees the magnitude of the terrible mistake.
Emily calls to her brother to pause the game. He does and she brings the book over and flops it open in front of him on the floor. He looks at her expectantly and she whispers into his ear. His eyes grow wide as he realizes she is right. There is a terrible mistake.
It is inconceivable that such brilliant and calmly aware children have not realized it before. Emily feels dumb. Her brother feels irresponsible. Both children are painfully aware that they must take action. They sit together for several minutes and converse in hushed tones. Together, they come up with a plan. Emily makes a list of all the things they will need. Her brother goes to find duct tape, a magic staff and fresh spring water, while Emily searches for find a rough bit of canvas, bedrolls and some vittles.
After gathering the supplies, the two wonderful children stand poised in the kitchen. Emily aloofly looks at her brother. Her brother calmly and awaredly takes her hand. Together the two children take a brave, purposeful step into the dark hall. This time they do not hurry. Hurrying is the mistake they have made all along. The two siblings are shakey, not because they are afraid, of course, but because of the fierce wind that is blowing about them. The two stalwart heroes move slowly to the middle of the hall.
This is about where the ghost must live. Very bravely, they use the canvas and the tape to build a shelter and crawl inside. Emily puts out the bedrolls and the children sit close together for warmth. After sitting in silence for a long, long time, the two children, who are starving and freezing to death crawl inside the bedrolls and eat the provisions they have gathered.
Just as they are finishing up it happens. The ghost begins to moan. Then the shelter collapses and the frightened children scream as something huge and heavy drops on them from above. Emily, thinking quickly, grabs the magic staff and waves it at the ferocious thing. The ferocious thing growls and sits up looking right at Emily.
“Emily Elizabeth Nelson, what on earth are you doing?” Emily’s mother grabs the broom that Emily has aimed at her. She struggles to free herself from the bed sheet she is tangled up in. “Why did you tape a bed sheet to the wall?”
Emily knows her mother will not understand about the terrible mistake. She tries to explain the brave plan in simple terms, “We had to lure the troll out so the ghost would eat him.” Emily’s mother stops frowning. She begins to laugh instead.
“Did it work?” She asks. Emily nods her head. “Good. Take your sheets and blankets back to your bed, and I will make you a lunch that consists of more than dinner rolls and bottled water.”
Emily and her brother exchange confused looks. Then, quietly they take the bedrolls and canvas to the storage facility and trudge back to the kitchen for lunch with the craziest mom ever.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Fantasy (Untitled) sec 4
Levitos has always been the spiritual center of the Ouay lands. It is the home of the pillar. The pillar is a twelve foot high stone coloumn that stands in the middle of a courtyard. On it are the Twelve Sacred Laws of the Ouay. The laws are as follows: 1. Obey The Great King in all things. He is holy and just. 2. Eat nothing prohibited by the law of plants and life. 3. Rest when work is over. Do not work seven days a week. 4. Women, do not give yourself to more than one man. If you give your body to a man you must give your heart and mind as well. You must marry him. 5. Men, do not give yourself to more than one woman. If you give your body to a woman you must give your heart and mind as well. You must marry her. 5. Animals to be eaten must be treated kindly and killed quickly. 6. Do not take what does not belong to you. 7. Do not say things that are cruel, hurtful or untrue. 8. Never hurt someone on purpose. If someone hurts another person they are to be turned over to the elders. If the elders find the actions to be cruel, the person may be retaliated against in front of witnesses. 9. Before a child is born the mother and father must spend a month learning from the elders how to raise children. 10. An orphan must be adopted by a capable family no more than a month after the death of the parents. 11. Do not alter your mind with foods and drinks. 12. Love all people as though your life depended on it.
Fantasy (Untitled) Sec 3
You probably imagine that this is the point in my narrative where I tell you of the horrors that befell my people under the rule of a cruel and evil king. You are wrong. Under Etal, the Ouay have not suffered great tragedy or hardship. At first things passed as they always had.
The first thing Etal did was tear down the great castle at Binnen. While many were outraged, the destruction had little effect on our lives. The effect it did have was decidedly positive. Many laborers were well paid to destroy the castle, and when Etal decided to build a new castle at Matin many more laborers were employed there. Stone cutters, masons, and carpenters all were given work. There was prosperity among the working class in Matin that they had not known before. For the rest of the Ouay, life changed very little.
The first thing Etal did was tear down the great castle at Binnen. While many were outraged, the destruction had little effect on our lives. The effect it did have was decidedly positive. Many laborers were well paid to destroy the castle, and when Etal decided to build a new castle at Matin many more laborers were employed there. Stone cutters, masons, and carpenters all were given work. There was prosperity among the working class in Matin that they had not known before. For the rest of the Ouay, life changed very little.
Fantasy (untitled) Sec 2
Yeshu held a banquet to honor his cousin. The two men spent the entire evening eating and laughing. Long after all those who had gathered had gone to sleep, Yeshu and Etal sat in the great hall talking and telling stories.
Etal wore the royal crest on his back, the royal sword on his hip and a smile on his face. Behind the smile, however, was a darkness no one suspected. Etal was tired of riding of to battle while his cousin sat on silk cushins.
The next morning, Etal stool in the highest tower of the castle and proclaimed himself the new king. Below him hung the body of his cousin, beaten beyond recognition.
Those who can remember say that Yeshu was barely recognizable as human. Most of his bones had been broken and much of the skin had been cut from his body. Etal had not just killed his cousin, he had destroyed him.
The morning after the dark night, the Ouay people looked upon the dead body of a beloved prince and then, in horror, on a beloved hero as he claimed the Binnen throne.
Etal wore the royal crest on his back, the royal sword on his hip and a smile on his face. Behind the smile, however, was a darkness no one suspected. Etal was tired of riding of to battle while his cousin sat on silk cushins.
The next morning, Etal stool in the highest tower of the castle and proclaimed himself the new king. Below him hung the body of his cousin, beaten beyond recognition.
Those who can remember say that Yeshu was barely recognizable as human. Most of his bones had been broken and much of the skin had been cut from his body. Etal had not just killed his cousin, he had destroyed him.
The morning after the dark night, the Ouay people looked upon the dead body of a beloved prince and then, in horror, on a beloved hero as he claimed the Binnen throne.
Fantasy (Untitiled) sect 1
They say that the first of the Ouay were formed from the earth. The Great King breathed life into them. Few of us believe that anymore, but it is the story we were taught as children. The Great King is missing now. He left twenty years ago. Many believe he is dead. Many believe he has abandoned his throne. No one believes he will return.
When the king left on a holy pilgramige he left his only son to rule in his place. The crown prince, Yeshu, was noble and kind, and ruled the land of the Ouay with gentleness. Then came the dark night.
Those who remember swear there was no moon the night the soldiers returned. The great army of the Ouay had been defending our northern border from the Zonder armies. No moonlight was needed, however, as Etal lead the soldiers home. Etal was the lord of the lands of Matin. He was cousin to Prince Yeshu and commonly believed to be the greatest of all the Ouay.
Etal of Matin was strong and handsome. He was tall and lean. Though he was captian of the Ouay armies, they say he was as talented with a lute or paintbrush as he was with a sword or bow.
Etal was said to have a face of porcelain, a voice of silver, a heart of gold and nerves of steel. The victor of many battles, he was with out blemish. No scars marred his exquisite face. The night Etal rode, smiling, back to Binnen, he was greeted with cheers and celebration.
When the king left on a holy pilgramige he left his only son to rule in his place. The crown prince, Yeshu, was noble and kind, and ruled the land of the Ouay with gentleness. Then came the dark night.
Those who remember swear there was no moon the night the soldiers returned. The great army of the Ouay had been defending our northern border from the Zonder armies. No moonlight was needed, however, as Etal lead the soldiers home. Etal was the lord of the lands of Matin. He was cousin to Prince Yeshu and commonly believed to be the greatest of all the Ouay.
Etal of Matin was strong and handsome. He was tall and lean. Though he was captian of the Ouay armies, they say he was as talented with a lute or paintbrush as he was with a sword or bow.
Etal was said to have a face of porcelain, a voice of silver, a heart of gold and nerves of steel. The victor of many battles, he was with out blemish. No scars marred his exquisite face. The night Etal rode, smiling, back to Binnen, he was greeted with cheers and celebration.
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