The world was full
and I danced all day
and sang to the birds
and held my Father's hand,
talking to him endlessly.

The garden was life,
the wind tickling my ear
with words from the air
and the ground held me,
keeping me close and stable.

The tree was beautiful,
with vines for leaves
and fruit that dripped,
hanging like droplets
from the vines.

The serpent was quiet,
it only whispered
and hissed
and slithered around me
till I was comfortable in its squeeze.

The fruit was sweet
like honeysuckles
or bee nectar
or ripe cherries
or the smell of fresh roses.

The fruit was bitter,
like the feel of thorns
or like bile
or thirst
or snake's venom.

I was exposed,
my Father knew
but I covered myself anyway
hoping I could hide my shame,
myself.

He was enraged
and betrayed.
He spoke like the mountains when they'd formed
and wept
like all of the waterfalls in Eden.

The curse was a pit
with so much darkness
I couldn't see beauty
and jagged glass
that pierced my opened eyes, then my womb.

The skins were a gift,
He stitched them Himself.
They protect me from the glass
and even now, when I wear them
I hear his faraway voice.

Hold it up to the light

like a color slide

watching rainbow spots 

like fruity pebbles

dance and move and 

illuminate.

You'll see all I have to tell,

if you try.

Pick me up and spin me around,

and watch my smile,

my hair

illuminate.

Gold and red

like waves of sunshine.

Just take the time

And hold me up to the light.

*The first two lines are taken from Billy Collins' "Introduction to Poetry". The rest, is mine.

Chlöe

          It's been awhile since I've put anything up here, so I decided to put up an excerpt of a longer piece that I'm working on. I'm not sure if this will be the exact beginning of the piece, but it will be in the beginning. I think it's pretty good for a start and I hope you like it too.

*

          “You wanna do what?” Chase asked. He and Rob were sitting on the floor of his room, playing Xbox. Their eyes made fervent darts across the TV screen but their thumbs moved faster. They were leaning against Chase’s bed, which hadn’t been made in – well – ever, and occasionally swatted at the colony of flies that occupied the room.

            “I want to star in the school play this year,” I repeated.

            “Dammit!” Chase yelled, throwing down the controller. Rob chuckled victoriously.

            “Did you hear me?” I asked. Chase sighed and turned to me.

            “School play?” he said, as if the play was what smelled like month-old Monster. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

            I shook my head. “Nope. It looks really interesting. It’s not some boring old rehash of Broadway shows long gone. This year it was written by a student. And besides,” I shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to act.”

            “Only wussies care about that kind of thing,” Chase sneered. “And you just said it yourself. You don’t know how to act, why would you get picked? And to be the star, of all things?”

            I leaned my head against the giant bosom of a swimsuit model on the wall. I felt my throat closing but I tried not to let it show in my voice.

            “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got some secret acting talent or something.”

            “Clo, I doubt it. You? Act?”

            I let out a sob. I hated myself for it.

            “Here comes the waterworks,” Rob sighed. “Again.”

            Chase stood up and came over to me, taking me in his arms. I let out a couple more gentle sobs before regaining control of myself, and pressed quietly into Chase’s chest.

            “I guess I wouldn’t be any good at acting, huh?” I asked, finally.

            “No,” Chase answered. “So forget about this play thing. Okay? I just don’t want you embarrassing yourself in front of other people, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            Chase let go of me and sat back down. “Sit down here with Rob and me.”

            “Just don’t cry on me,” Rob warned, wrinkling his nose.

            I sat in between them and laid my head on Chase’s shoulder while they went back to their game. I watched as they marched around in the game world, shooting off every living head. I wondered if the heads were me.

Forgive Me

          "Brant?" Cordelia said.

          "Hm?"

          "How did your mother die?"

          Brant stopped poking the fire. He stared into it.

          "She was killed by a river elf. A Turkis River Elf," Brant paused. "She was visiting their village to sign a treaty of peace. The first one ever made between river and fire elves. She was approaching the village with her guards and some idiot sentry thought they were coming to attack. He shot her twice before he was stopped." Brant sighed, continuing.

          "A war nearly broke out because of it. But, the leader of the Turkis River Elves at the time, handed the boy responsible over to my father in exchange for his cooperation in continuing with the treaty my mother had wanted. The boy was publicly executed and the treaty signed."

          Brant stopped, letting out a deep breath. He returned to poking the fire.

          Cordelia couldn't look at him.

          "I'm sorry."

          "It's not your fault," Brant said.

          "How can - " Cordelia shook her head. "How come you don't hate me? How can you - " Cordelia stopped, trailing off. 

          Brant looked at her, confused. 

          "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

          "You don't hate me? For what they did to your mother?"

          "Why would I?" Brant asked. "You had nothing to do with that."

          "What about the Turkis River Elves? How could you stand living among - "

          "Cordelia," Brant cut in. "It's not their fault either. It was a tragic mistake, my mother's death. I don't hate anyone because of it. Not even the guy who killed her." Brant whispered the last sentence, as if the words were so new to him that he didn't have the confidence to say them louder.

          Cordelia kept staring at him.

          "How can you forgive so easily? I still can't forgive your people for standing by and watching while mine died, " her voice choked. "I still can't forgive you for not doing something about it." Cordelia started crying, her tears dripping haphazardly to the ground while her shoulders shook.

          "I'm sorry," Brant said, holding his arms and shutting his eyes. He couldn't watch Cordelia cry. 

          Listening was worse.

          "Why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you try?" Cordelia sobbed.

          "Because I'm a coward," Brant answered bitterly. "Because I've grown up in a world of power, politics and manipulation - not one of justice or compassion. My gut reaction is to do what will look best. I didn't even do that. I just puked. I'm supposed to be the next leader of the largest civilization in Reich auf Glas and when my power was really needed - I puked. I didn't try to rally together my father's troops to fight the dark fairies, I didn't try to swim over myself. I didn't even try to defy my father - " Brant was in danger of tears now too, he was talking so quickly that he was gasping. "I'm a coward, Cordelia. A disgusting coward."

          Brant stood up quickly, storming away from the campsite while Cordelia cried. He punched a few trees while he walked, leaving fist-sized scorch marks. 

          He should have done something. Something. He didn't even tell the men to stop shooting at Cordelia while she swam away. He just watched. Watched and retched. Why had he been such a coward? He was the prince of the fire elves! One of the most powerful people in Reich auf Glas! How could he be so weak?

          Brant stopped - just before bursting an entire tree into flames. He was being a coward now. He'd left Cordelia just to cry by herself. Even if she hated him, why wasn't he trying to comfort her? 

          Brant turned around and ran back to the campsite, following his scorch marks. He found Cordelia, wandering just a bit away from their camp, also following the burn marks on the trees. She was still shaking and gasping, with red eyes and a wet face.

          "Brant," she choked.

          Brant grabbed her, pulling her close.

          "I'm sorry," He murmured, over and over. Then, 

          "I love you."

          Cordelia's sobs continued. "I believe you," she said. "I want to love you too."

          "It's okay if you don't," Brant whispered, rubbing Cordelia's hair. "You don't have to."

          "I want to," Cordelia persisted. "And to forgive you."

          "Okay," Brant said. "Okay."

Cleansing

I came home today after helping friends paint their house for a few hours, exhausted. That didn't matter. I ate dinner and left again, walking to Wawa to grab a coffee and a blueberry muffin. Then, once I got back home and settled in, it was about 8 o'clock. I've been writing ever since. Well, not entirely. I did draw for a little bit while the thunderstorm was going on because I couldn't leave my computer plugged in for fear of lightening bolts and whatever mysterious damage they cause to plugged items. I also listened to my iPod while doing both of these things. It is now 2:12 and I am still going strong on caffeine and creative energy. Which is surprising, because I had planned on being completely drained mentally, emotionally and physically by now. It was meant to be a cleansing process, to create and pour everything out of myself until I had nothing left to give and collapsed on my bed. Clearly, accomplishing this in six hours was a huge underestimation on my part. Either way, I've created some really awesome writing tonight and some not so awesome writing. I will definitely post one of the things that has been produced tonight, and as for the drawing, it goes with the piece that I will put up in a few minutes. However, this drawing is not finished, I've been attempting to do it right for months now, and it'll be a miracle if I ever get it done, so don't get your hopes up about seeing it. I don't know how much longer I will stay up tonight. I would like to go to sleep, but I wonder if all the caffeine in my system would make that pointless. I will stay up a bit longer to post what I wrote, and then see how I feel from there. I hope you like this one, I personally think it's pretty powerful and I love it. However, I'm biased, so don't tell me if it sucks. Or at least say it nicely, if it really is that awful. Enjoy!

Toz

             Toz paused before pounding his fist against the door. His former mentor, Galen’s, words rung in his ears.

            “Don’t go back there.” He’d said. “It’s been 14 years since they left you with me. They won’t even recognize you – much less except you back into their family.” Toz’s forehead creased in frustration but he shook the memory away. Galen was nothing but a senile, old sorcerer. What did he know aside from magic? He certainly knew nothing about family. Toz’s parents would be delighted to welcome him back. He rasped against the door with his knuckles before self-consciously patting down his golden-brown hair. There was the sound of many feet and a chorus of small, curious voices. Toz could hear a woman scold,

            “Hush up! Whoever it is won’t want to be bombarded all at once!” The door creaked open slowly and a disheveled woman with wispy brown hair and a red splotched face stood before Toz with a crowd of young children gathered around her skirt. Toz suddenly felt too tidy and shook his hair a little. The woman gazed up at Toz with a suspicious expression.

            “What do you want?” she asked, looking Toz up and down. Her eyes rested momentarily on the silver band on the index finger of Toz’s left hand.

            “Don’t you recognize me?” Toz asked, hopeful. The woman raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. A small knot of regret formed in Toz’s stomach.

            “I’m Toz. I’m your son.” The woman’s expression changed to a look of surprised realization.

            “Toz! You must forgive me for not recognizing you! I mean – I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. Now look at you! Come in! Come!” The woman rushed Toz into the modest home. She brushed off a chair and sat him in it before pulling up one for herself. Toz counted six children altogether, scuttling about excitedly after their mother. They were all younger then him. Could they all really be his siblings? The youngest, a little girl with gray eyes, seemed to look right through Toz. The woman leaned forward, scrutinizing Toz. She seemed ready to interrogate him.

            “You're certainly doing well for yourself.” She pointed out, eyeing Toz’s nice clothes and again his ring. 

            Well, having a princess for a girlfriend hasn't hurt my pocket, Toz thought. He didn’t say this out loud though.

            “How has the sorcerer training been going?” the woman asked. Toz snorted lightly.

            “I’m not learning from Galen anymore. I’ve been traveling for the past couple years.”

            “Really?” the woman questioned, with a tone that didn’t seem as interested as it tried to be.

            “Yes,” Toz sighed, deciding he wouldn’t bore her with an account of his travels. “How have things been with you?” The woman laughed,

            “Well as you can see I’ve gained plenty of mouths to feed since you’ve been gone! May I ask, did you get that ring on your travels?”

            “No.” Toz practically moaned, annoyed that everyone always had to ask about the ring. “Galen gave it to me. It protects my mind from being invaded by magical beings, like other sorcerers and soul-seers.” The woman nodded.

            “Did you also get those clothes from Galen?”

            “No. I got these when I worked for the royal family.”

            “My son worked in the castle?” The woman exclaimed. “What did you do?” She leaned forward in her seat.

            “I was a jester.” Toz coughed. A jester. He could never get over how stereotypical and undignified a job that was for a sorcerer.

            “You certainly got paid well, didn’t you?”

            “I suppose.” Toz wished she would quit questioning his fortunes. So what if he had nice clothes and a silver ring? Wouldn’t she be just as happy if he’d shown up in rags? When she leaned back and sighed contentedly to herself that she had a rich son, he doubted it. Toz stood up to leave.

            “Where are you going? You’ve only just arrived?” the woman asked, standing as well.

            “I only wanted to stop by for a brief visit,” Toz lied. “I really need to be going now.”

            “But you’ll come back, right?” the woman asked, her voice edgy. Just then the girl with the gray eyes stumbled into Toz’s leg. She hugged him.

            “Daddy,” She sighed. Toz bent down and looked into her eyes. They stared back at him blankly.

            “Do I look like your daddy?” he asked softly.

            “Look?” The little girl’s face scrunched up in confusion and she giggled, “You’re silly daddy. I don't look. I hear!” Toz inhaled sharply. He closed the girl’s eyelids with his fingers and she giggled again at the strange action.

            “Do you like flowers?” Toz asked.

            “They smell pretty.” The girl sighed at the pleasant thought.

            “They look pretty too.” Toz informed her.

            “But I don't look!” the girl exclaimed indignantly.

            “Are you sure?” Toz asked as he allowed her to open her eyelids. She squinted drastically.

            “It hurts!” she complained. The woman gasped,

            “She can see! You healed her!” But Toz was already out the door and on his way down the road.

Melenia's Dream

          "Father?" Brant questioned, dismounting his horse.
          "Yes?" King Regan answered.
          "We traveled for a week to look at a river?"
          They had traveled nearly nonstop for an entire week with a regiment of soldiers, all who were now off of their horses and gazing over the massive river before them. Some of them joked around by spitting and kicking dirt into the water. The Saphir River was legendary for its purity.
          "Of course not, Brant," the king replied, dismounting his horse as well. "We've come here to watch a much more glorious sight."
          "And you still won't tell me what it is?" Brant asked, skeptically.
          "That's why it's a surprise," the king said, chuckling. "You'll like it, son. Trust me."

***

          Brant lay in his tent, boredly tossing a flame in his hand. He had a tent to himself, unlike most of the regiment. Not only that, but his tent was entirely decorated in red and gold, with a woven carpet, and pillows and sheets of silk. Brant leaned against a couple of these pillows now, wishing he could be at home, training for the magmaball tournament. His team was the first co-ed team in the league - a political statement his father hadn't entirely agreed with, but his sister, Almira, had for once supported him in. They had to do well in order to prove that co-ed teams could work and that women could hold their own against men both physically and magically. Brant was also the youngest member of a magmaball team in league history. It was a lot of pressure.

          But, Brant was used to dealing with pressure. He'd grown up in the public eye. He knew how to handle it.

          Brant heard a soldier walking around quietly, right outside of his tent. He was irritated. He hoped the soldier hadn't come to tell him his father needed him for something, or to come see whatever it was that was such a great surprise.

          Links of ice formed around Brant's ankles and elbows, chaining him to the ground. That wasn't a soldier. A fire elf one, anyway.

          Brant tried to break away in vain, the flame in his hand disappearing. Then, he tried to yell but with the first sound he made, his saliva froze too, locking his jaw into a helpless, open position.

          The opening of his tent rustled and a river elf girl entered silently. She glared at Brant, her eyes the cold blue of the ice she'd used and her skin like night.

          "Don't scream, or I'll freeze your blood next," the girl hissed. The ice in Brant's mouth returned to liquid. 

          "Why are you and your men here?" the girl asked.

          "I have no better idea than you," Brant answered, spitting out the remaining shards of ice.

          "Don't lie," the girl said sternly. "I can tell when someone's lying."

          "Well, clearly not, because I'm telling the truth," Brant said, smartly. The girl looked at him hard, then turned away in frustration. 

          "Yes, I can see that." The girl sighed and looked hard at Brant again. "Then tell me what you do know."
          "I'm eighteen and hate fish, which is probably what we'll be eating most of the time we're here. I might take my horse back to the forest and do a bit of hunting," Brant said. The girl glared at him.
          "Tell me what you know about why you're here."
          "Nothing."
          "You're hiding something."
          "Even if you know that, what are you going to do about it?" Brant said. He instantly melted the ice binding him, and rushed at the girl. He could have escaped earlier, but he always found it more useful to let the enemy think they were in power for a bit. But this girl was still in control. She was quicker than Brant had anticipated, and dodged him.
          The girl pulled water out of what seemed to be nowhere. Brant breathed and his throat chaffed at the dryness of the air. He readied flames in his hands.
          Then a buzzing noise filled the air. It deafened Brant and the girl, and they dropped their weapons and covered their ears. The whole tent was vibrating with the sound. Simple, constant buzzing.
          Gradually the buzzing noise grew further away.
          "What was that?" the girl asked frantically. She was staring at Brant with horror. He just stared back.
          "Brant!" King Regan called from outside of the tent. Brant, without thinking, rushed out of the tent and into his father before the king could enter and find the river elf girl.
          "You're excited," the king commented suspiciously.
          "What is it, father?" Brant sighed.
          "Come with me," the king said. "All the men are at the riverbank." King Regan led the way and Brant ignored the subtle movement at the entrance to his tent as he walked away.
          All the men were at the riverbank. Many stood around anxiously, staring out over the water. Some moved about nervously and a few looked sick. The king was glowing with excitement. The men parted to allow Brant and his father to stand in the front.
          "Listen," the king said. There was still a slight buzzing, off in the distance - then silence. It stayed silent for about a minute. Then there were screams.
          Terrible screams traveled across the water, loud enough that it sounded like the river itself were wailing. There was darkness on the other side of the river and it seemed to seethe and writhe with a power of its own. Brant's eyes widened with realization.
          "Dark fairies?" He turned to his father, his voice cracking on each word. King Regan smiled widely. Brant felt bile rise in his throat.
          There was a splash from further down the river and a torrent of water propelled through towards the other side.
          "A river elf!" Some of the men yelled. They reached for their bows to shoot her in the water, but she was gone too quickly. Brant hoped she didn't make it across in  time. There was no way she would survive. But maybe she preferred that to watching her people die.
          Brant puked into the Saphir River. He wasn't the only one, but more blood polluted the ancient, pure waters than vomit that night.