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Serenade
April 26th, 2012, 07:52 PM
Hello, all. Been a while since I've been on the site...and saw all of my stories were deleted *tear*. So, I'm posting an oldie but goodie of mine that I've been working on. Definitely looking for some reviews, critiques, flames, cash donations...its ALL good. And I'll get back to giving some reviewing of my own...eye for an eye and all that. Well, here it is. Enjoy...or else. *shakes fist*.
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Sam

1. Something calls.

At the crown of the earth, the moon, the dark boy, and the dark cat sit together in silence, and gaze upon the illuminated metropolis below. The city seems alive and pulses erratically with color, while the citizens of the night scurry to and fro in their doings. Up here though, it is quiet. The night wears tranquility as her necklace. Below, the dark boy muses, her gown must flow down into the chaos.

But what is it they do, he wonders as he stares at the people. And not for the first time, either. Purpose and goals, they intrigue him, as he possesses neither, nor the ability to desire them.

What makes them hurry so?

The boy's name is Sam, and while he ponders the curiosities of man, he scratches the cat behind her ears with a gloved hand. His black eyes are unfocused as he lets his thin legs dangle over the rooftop's edge. With a drawn out purr, the lithe animal arches her back under his touch, languid and graceful. Her ebony fur is seared with numerous points of bright white. He always feels she is the night sky, walking. Or slinking...however one would describe the way she moves.

Distractedly, the boy smiles at the animal, returning to his thoughts. At the moment, he is trying again to identify the vague sense of dissatisfaction that plagues him. He always feels like he is missing something; as if he has lost a very important thing in the past ten years he has roamed this earth.

"But what?" he asks aloud, his puffs of breath visible in the cold air. The moon, not to be bothered by the questions of a mere boy, maintains her aloofness; the cat, however, pauses in her grooming and contemplates her master with gold-tinted eyes, as if wondering the very same thing.

Sam glances down at the animal with another smile before turning his attention back below; the city murmurs as the winds escort babbling, screams, and drunken singing into the atmosphere.

"I don't know, Metat," he finally shrugs as he pulls the ragged, brown coat tighter around his small frame. The cold does not bother him, though. He only wears the thing because he's had it ever since he can remember. That, and the cat, of course.

"Sometimes, I wish someone would just appear and tell me what to do. All of this wandering hasn't really gotten me anywhere..."

His smile darkens as he adds, "Besides almost every goddamn city on this earth."

At that, the cat meows and puts her paws into his lap. He rolls his eyes in amusement. "I'm ten Metat. I can curse as much as I damn well please." With a shake of his head, which causes his black hair to fall about his face, he stands suddenly and the animal pounces back with a hiss.

Sam cannot help but laugh at her indignation as he takes one last look at the sprawling city. To him, Paynthon is by far one of the most entertaining, scary, and lovely cities he frequents in this world. It's streets and alleys twist and turn, snaking between the dark buildings with what he can only describe as ordered chaos. Any oxymoron but extremely apt, in his opinion. It is also the only place he can ever feel that unfamiliar feeling that everyone describes as 'home'.

Yet it is time to move on, he thinks. Something calls him. He is restless. He doesn't even know where he will go this time. Truthfully, he never does. He only knows that deep introspection and conversation with an uppity cat never really helps facilitate events.

"You're way too emotional sometimes, Metat," he says to the cat. "But then again, you are female, so I guess-"

He is interrupted, by his own sudden silence. The cat glances up at her master, while the boy cocks his head to the side, listening. For a few minutes, he stands like this; frozen, as if time has paused for him only. He stares down into the pitch-black alley hundreds of feet below him, the dark eyes narrowed in concentration behind sooty eyelashes. The cat peers over the edge as well, ears twitching. The only thing that moves on the rooftop is the boy's chest as he draws breath into his lungs, the cat's ears twitching and turning, and her tail, swaying in the moon's glow.

Finally, he speaks.

"This feeling, it's...what do you think, Metat?" It is odd. Odd, yet somehow...familar? Some new, powerful restlessness stirs his heart, as his eyes seek to penetrate the shadows below. The cat meows in reply, whilst throwing her head back to the black, star-scattered sky.

He nods. "Thought so."

The boy gathers the animal in his arms and jumps into the black, his coattails riding the cold wind behind him.

~~~
Here.

He is here, and his presence calls out to her from the pandemonium of the city's night. Frosty, azure eyes scan the taverns, clubs and twisted alleys mechanically, as cold gusts of wind betray her long, white-blond hair to the midnight air. Somehow, she stands untouched in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, her movements unhurried. She knows the darkness and bedlam cannot hide him forever, and she can afford to be patient. She has already searched this long. Mere hours are but a eyelid's blink.

I feel him though, nearer than I've felt for years. We've traveled the earth in our search, mine for him, and his for something he probably doesn't even know himself. Tonight, though, this ends. Tonight, we return home.

She steps forward, smiling for the first time in years.

dreamer444
May 4th, 2012, 04:32 AM
I enjoyed this

VioletS16
May 4th, 2012, 04:49 AM
Very very descriptive and good! :)

Blue Blazer
May 4th, 2012, 01:33 PM
Fantastic. I can see this as a graphic novel.

Serenade
May 7th, 2012, 07:06 PM
Hey all, thanks for the kind reviews and hopefully I'll be reviewing some of your writing in the future...just my work gives me very little free time (something my girlfriend hits me for from time to time, haha). Anyway, here's an excerpt from the next...i've edited and edited, and I'm still not sure about it, so any critiques greatly appreciated. Thanks!

P.S. These aren't chapters, just consectutive parts until I actually arrance them they way I see fit.



2. When home comes knocking

Cliche. It is a word she's learned in her travels, a word that amuses her greatly with its meaning, and a word that applies to the situation at hand. Applicable to the point that it is absurd to her, actually. Dark, filthy alley? Yes. No one to the rescue of a...'helpless' damsel in distress such as herself. Double-yes. Grinning, filthy thugs? Of course. Two in front, one behind to block her escape. The one behind her even pounds a meaty hand into his fist incessantly. For intimidation factor, she supposes. She can hear people walking past the alley, ignoring the situation developing in the dank alleyway. With something like this that happens nightly, and even daily, occurrences like robberies and assaults never garner the attention of the average Paynthon citizen.

"Well, well." One of the thugs chuckles, his stance cocky and relaxed. She notices with a bit of surprise that he has a face many women, and some men probably, would consider handsome. Even pretty. Why he is playing at the common criminal instead of effiminate model or even pleasure-boy is beyond her.

"What do we got here? Little girl lost, yeah?" he asks. His honey-tinted eyes seem to writhe in amusement at her predicament.

"That's what it looks like," the one behind her agrees. Ah, she thinks after giving him a discreet glance. Now he fits the profile of the sterotypical, meat-headed street-thug. His oil-stained tank top clinging tightly to his muscular chest, along with his thick, tattoed arms and squared jaw practically scream, 'Me strong! Me beat you and win!' Grrr.'.

"Maybe we should, uh...escort her home," Meat-head suggests.

A few laughs echo the grime-stained brick walls of the alley as the last man smirks. The girl's lip curls in disgust as she dismisses him from her gaze. He's fat, sloppy-looking, and he offends three of her highly sensitive senses.

"Yeah. That'd be the gentlemanly thing to do, right boss?" Fat-slop's beady eyes gleam. Or she thinks they gleam, at least. It's hard to tell because they are partially blocked by the fleshy deposits of fat surrounding them.

Ugh.

They laugh again as the girl simply stands there, waiting with an expression so impassive, it borderlines on bored. She folds her arms, releases a small sigh and her ice-blue eyes flicker to the man on the left. Pleasure-boy. The leader, she guesses, taking in his dark clothes and the knife, about one foot long in length, 'hidden' in his belt beneath the black shirt. She shakes her head, almost pitying the man. He really shouldn't be here, she thinks, plucking one of her long, white-blonde hairs from her equally white, knee-length jacket.

"What's your name, lovely?" Pleasure boy asks.

With a sigh, the blonde answers, " Annah, and I will give you one chance."

"What?" the leader replies, still smiling, even in his confusion.

"One chance for you three to leave, un-maimed and...un-emasculated." Hmmm...I don't know if un-emasculated is a word or not, but I'm sure these fools don't either.

The three men look at one another, before the uproarious laughter begins anew, the fat slob next to Pleasure-boy even leaning against the wall for support in his mirth. They laugh because the shortest of them still towers over the girl. They laugh because the thinnest one is still as wide as two of her waist to waist. And finally they laugh because just earlier that day, the weakest one of them knocked out three guys in an all-out street brawl. For fun.

"R-really?" Meat-head gasps out behind her, his other hand on his stomach. "Thats...thats..."

The girl simply stands, waiting. She is starting to get annoyed, because this is a waste of precious time; this is time she could be spending continuing with her search. She was drawn toward this particular alley, despite the 'hidden' trap the three had set to waylay unsuspecting passerby. With this distraction however, the feeling has been waning so she decides to end things now. The cool night air allows each of her breaths to be visible as the leader wipes a tear from his eye and his chuckles subside. With a shake of his head, the honey-tinted eyes becomes serious, though the smile remains. It is time for business, apparently.

"But seriously though, hand over any cash you got and we might let you go." He eyes her up and down for a moment with, the smile widening. "Or we could just wrap you up and sell you to the highest bidder. I do have some connections in the pleasure quarters, ya know."

Again, the word cliche comes to mind as she rolls her eyes and sighs once more. Though she was a bit surprised that her earlier assumptions about the man turned out to be partially true, she should have known that sexual comments would be the next course of action for the men. It's all so simple and uninspired. She then shrugs to herself.

Oh well, she thinks. It's all irrelevant anyway. Her right foot shifts slightly.

"Very well."

The men smirk, and Pleasure-boy holds out a hand for the money he expects. Then he blinks and doesn't even have time to gasp his shock. One moment the girl is there, pincered between the three men. The next, it seems the girl is trying to see how close she can push his larynx to the back of his neck. With her fist. His cronies literally have their mouth's dropped open and eyes wide, though Fat-slop quickly finds said jaw dislocated after it has a meeting with the girl's elbow. A meeting that definitely doesn't go well, in his honest opinion. Within three seconds, both men before her are groaning limply on the ground or in the lead thug's case, trying to groan through his crushed throat.

"I wouldn't," the girl suddenly says, running a hand through white-blonde hair without turning around. Meat-head freezes, short knife in hand as he is caught trying to sneak up on the girl. His hand trembles a bit as he tries to steady resolve, but seeing a girl barely breaching five feet put down his running-mates with such ease makes it difficult to do so.

"If I were you," she continues, "I would simply leave, and forget this happened." She finally turns around, and the muscular man flinches away from the girl's cold eyes. "Or, we can see how far up your body your testicles can travel when I kick you in the crotch. I predict your throat, and I hear you men find that...painful."

Apparently, he agrees with the girl's very astute observation, because he backs up out of the alley, all without taking his eyes off of her, and runs. Fast. And frantically. She finally allows a small smile to adorn her lips before turning back to the the two prone men, face blank once more.

"As for you two..." she trails off, tilting her head to the side as if in thought. The two men stare up at her, the whites of their eyes visible in their terror. "What should I-"

Her head snaps up and she frowns, her eyes alight and face showing the most emotion they had seen all night. Then, with a smile, she looks up to the night sky, her heartbeat quickening in her excitement. Yes, she thinks. Finally.

She now grins, and if it is possible, the men feel their fear elevate to new heights at the sight.

He has arrived.

SamanthaMarie
May 8th, 2012, 10:21 PM
Your writing has a seductive quality to it which leaves the reader pondering the events and wanting more.

WiredNun
May 9th, 2012, 06:36 PM
Something off about the characters' thoughts. Need to make use of italics or quotes and remain consistent in style.

Either say "Below," the dark boy muses, "her gown must flow down into the chaos." or Below, the dark boy muses, her gown must flow down into the chaos. Or, Below her gown must flow down into the chaos.

Right now you're mixing the techniques up, apparently randomly. It breaks up my sense of immersion.

Next, present tense is bad for stories. Some would disagree, but show me a recognized great that consistently used present tense and I'll show you a ghost. Present tense is for roleplaying forums.

Serenade
May 14th, 2012, 08:47 PM
Again all thanks for the critiques/comments/reviews.


Something off about the characters' thoughts. Need to make use of italics or quotes and remain consistent in style.

Either say "Below," the dark boy muses, "her gown must flow down into the chaos." or Below, the dark boy muses, her gown must flow down into the chaos. Or, Below her gown must flow down into the chaos.

Right now you're mixing the techniques up, apparently randomly. It breaks up my sense of immersion.

Next, present tense is bad for stories. Some would disagree, but show me a recognized great that consistently used present tense and I'll show you a ghost. Present tense is for roleplaying forums.

Nice catch on the musing part, thanks! Although I've heard many different things about italicizing thoughts when its connected with something like 'he thought' or 'she wondered'...most said not to italicize those but you can italicize independent thoughts (without 'he mused', etc.) if its from the main characters perspective. I don't know, but I'm definitely changing the mused part.

As for saying present tense is bad for stories, I'd have to disagree...and if many of the many great authors we have today looked to the great authors preceding them, we wouldn't have as many great stories. A lot of authors through time and now were criticized maniacally by their peers for not following the mold set before them, and they said screw it. Some failed epically, or course, but some thrived...so. At least according to some authors history, haha.

Annnyway, my blowhard responses aside, I'm almost done with the next part, which will be way longer than these other two. In the meantime, I'll see what's up with some of the other stories in the ten-minutes I have left on work-break.

rawrritsmanda
May 15th, 2012, 09:18 PM
I really loved reading this. I hope to see more!

Red
May 24th, 2012, 07:35 AM
Whoa, was not expecting this guy to be 10. For some reason I was picturing a young man, and all of a sudden I'm thinking this boy was not taught proper manners. I'll be back to read the second part, but for now I'll say this: nice - as in I'm giving you a thumb's up right now. Very descriptive, and I kinda want to trade cats with him. Love the mystery of it, and I'm looking forward to read more later. Keep up the good work!

Don V Standeford
December 6th, 2012, 09:25 AM
Seems like sort of a prose poem. As a story though it's not very well developed. Almost as if the poetry took the place of plot. I like the images, but though they do characterize and have a (poetic) pleasing effect, they hinder the progression of the plot by internalizing the action. I could see it as a novel too, but only if the plot were allowed a little more attention. I do like prose poems, but it's hard to sustain them for a long time without the backbone of plot.

"The boy's name is Sam, and while he ponders the curiosities of man, he scratches the cat behind her ears with a gloved hand." This sentence seems to be set up merely for the poetic content. You have rhymes (Off rhymes) "Sam...Man..hand" in a sentence that is supposed to be characterizing the boy Sam. Instead the sentence serves only for the purpose of an ironic statement -- the odd dislocated fact that he is pondering philosophy while stroking a cat. The image is ironic, but that sentence contributes little to overall theme or plot of story. It just sounds odd, ironic. That's it. So plot, character, setting, dialogue, all these are sacrificed to create a type of ironic atmosphere that sounds pleasing to the ear.

Don V Standeford