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Author's Fantasy [The Rewrites!]

 
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10/21/2008 20:25:01   
_Depression
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Part One - Author's Fantasy

Prologue

"Have you ever felt the story you were writing come alive? Did the ink from your pen, the pixels on the screen ever transform from simple words into a brand new world?"

Ryan wrote the quote on a Post-It note, as he had done for other inspirational quotes. He looked on his wall, covered in a neon mosaic of Post-Its, for a place to put this newest quote. When he had found a spot and stuck his note to the wall, he turned is attention to his desk, on which was spread his latest story idea. He sighed as he crumpled up the looseleaf, knowing that he was getting no better at his craft. As he dumped the rejected story into his wastepaper basket, already filled with papers from a previous story reject, he felt himself being drawn back to the quote he had just copied.

"A brand new world," he said to himself, softly, and pulled out a new sheet of looseleaf paper as he clicked open his pen. He smiled as a new idea flowed into his head, and set his pen down to the paper. He wrote vigorously, the quote always in his mind as he hastily scribbled down the first line. He paused, took a deep breath, and moved onto the next line, his mind ablaze with a tale of fantasy and magic, of kings and princesses...

Emotion feels so dull after the battle, when the last of my enemies falls to the ground, dead by my blade. That apathy, that wonderful bliss when I look around and see myself alone in an ocean of destruction, I relish it. When I am the single, unstained white rose left in a garden of blood-red weeds, I smile.

The beauty of that moment is pure, as I am, and fit for only the best, as I am. I can lift my rapier to the Sun and see light reflect off not the metal blade, but the still-wet blood that coats it; I can press my hands to my skin and leave a handprint in scarlet, with blood that is never mine. I rejoice while I can, whenever I can, for other than that time, I am no more free than those defeated I keep as spoils of war.


Ryan smiled as he read over what he had written; he could see the narrator clearly in his mind. 'Breeze,' he thought, closing his eyes as an image of the girl filled the inside of his eyelids. 'I can see her here, almost. Her long, silky white hair flowing down to her elbows; her sharp, cool green eyes staring at me; the blue fingernails on her soft, delicate, deadly hands complementing her eyes; her beautiful face, her soft, innocent lips smiling. Her body, her beautiful body, it's all so clear. My god, she's perfect.'

Ryan opened his eyes and turned his attention back to his new story, a smile growing gently on his lips.

-----
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AQ  Post #: 1
11/15/2008 22:51:24   
_Depression
Member

Chapter 1-- "Aberythstye"

Ryan woke with a start, jumping in the chair he had fallen asleep in and tearing his eyes open as the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor reached his ears. He could hear shouts, muffled by his drowsiness and closed bedroom door, exchanged between his parents, and he quickly forced himself awake. Pushing himself away from his desk, he rubbed his eyes and stood, turning to his closet as he focused his hearing to the argument taking place elsewhere in his house. 'Great,' he thought silently as he pulled a clean shirt and pair of jeans from the shelves, 'they're fighting about breakfast again.'

Grabbing his cell phone and wallet and shoving them into his pocket, Ryan swept his binder of looseleaf paper into his navy-blue messenger bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. 'Maybe I can get out of here before they drag me into it.' He threw on a pair of sneakers as someone stomped their way up the staircase and sighed, dreading having to face whoever was in the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Ryan's mother shouted, her voice too far away to belong to the person now walking near his bedroom.

"To wake up my son!" his father said angrily as the bedroom door opened.

Ryan walked briskly from his room and pushed past his father, ignoring his calls as he made his way to the stairs. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he sped through the kitchen and pushed the door to the driveway open before his mother could reach him, refusing to acknowledge her even when she grabbed his shoulder. He rushed out of the house and down the cracking concrete of the driveway, and turned onto the sidewalk as his mother shouted after him.

Nearly bouncing down the sidewalk in the crisp, morning air of early April, Ryan opened his bag and took out his binder, flipping open to the first page of his new story. 'I still can't believe I wrote this,' he said to himself, silently, and smiled.

"Hey, Ryan!" a voice called out to him, breaking the silence of the morning.

Ryan raised his eyes and grinned as his friend Greg waved to him from the corner of the block. Returning the wave, he closed his binder and dropped it into his bag, asking, "Why are you up so early?"

"Unlike you," Greg said, waiting for Ryan before crossing the empty street, "I have a job."

"Since when do you work on Saturday?"

Greg laughed and punched Ryan lightly on the arm. "At least I have a job."

Laughing, Ryan followed his friend across the street and down the next block, stopping at the main street of their neighborhood. "Hey, Greg," he said, "when does your shift start?"

"Forty-five minutes," Greg answered, checking his watch. "Why?"

"You want to go to Dunkin' Donuts? It's right across the street, and I'll pay." Ryan shifted the strap of his messenger bag. "Besides, I've got a new story I think you'll like."

Sighing, Greg nodded. "All right, I guess I have time." He grinned. "I hope this story's better than your others."

"Oh, it is," Ryan said quickly, laughing. "Believe me."

Inside the Dunkin' Donuts, Greg walked quickly to the counter and, after greeting the cheery cashier, said, "So, I'll have a bagel - with cream cheese - and a strawberry-frosted donut. And a coke." He turned to Ryan. "What're you getting?"

"A discount, I hope," he muttered, then smiled at the cashier. "I guess... I'll get what he's getting, without the donut." Grudgingly, he took out his wallet and handed over a twenty-dollar bill as Greg walked over to one of the tables. When he received his change, he stepped over to the table and dropped his binder in front of his friend. "I'm paying, so you're reading."

"All right, all right," Greg said, smiling, and flipped the binder open to the first page.

Ryan walked back to the counter and waited as the cashier finished preparing the tray of food. As she handed the tray over, she asked, "You write stories?"

"Yeah," he said, blushing lightly in embarrassment. "They're not that good though."

"'Not that good' is an understatement," Greg called. "They stink, normally."

"Thanks, Greg."

Greg laughed. "No problem," he said, and turned back to the binder, shaking his head. "Not this one, though. This is pretty good."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Honestly, who are you and what did you do with my friend?"

-----
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