Clicketh.

Taking stuff from WritersCo. Here for safekeeping. I might do something with some of these eventually. Comments, as always, are more than welcome, but keep in mind that most of these are more than a year old.

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Retribution

"Riddle me this, milord..."

He felt something cold and hard being set on his stomach. With startled eyes he looked down at the young girl whose face was graced with a breathtaking twist of expressive lips he had been kissing just moments earlier. Strays of her brown hair, floating around in a warm wind, tickled his cheeks and nose, but he hardly took notice. His mind was racing. Could he take hold of the revolver? Could he---?

"Tsk. You are not paying attention, dear sir. Humour me," she said in a sing-song voice, waiting for him to nod warily before she continued. Her deep brown eyes pierced him full of holes. Oh, if looks could kill!
"So, milord, riddle me this. What are the consequences of hurting a Rocheford lady's sister in such an unspeakable way?"

Her voice dripped honey, but that gaze, it was poisonous. He froze. Then, very slowly, very deliberately, he took his hands back to himself from where they had been upon her body. There was no touching this woman, not when all the hatred inside her was directed at you.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Rochefort women were most dangerous of them all. He wondered how he could not have seen this, how he could not have made the connection. There were only so many noble houses whose children were born with hair in such luxurious shades of strawberry blonde. No, there were actually no other noble houses around with those unique childhood colours. He shivered, wind suddenly turning cool and more insistent, swaying the long grass around them. Definitely not a favourable position to be in, he thought, just a slightest bit amused.

"I am surprised," she noted with a wry grin. "I would have expected you to deny, or try to distract me with your... charming demeanour. But it seems you know and remember exactly what I mean, do you not, dear sir Werchast?" Silence. "I thought it was so. Naturally you understand what need be done."

There was nothing to be said. Lying would be of little use, as she could easily tap into his thoughts, a notion that always unsettled him. He did understand, and he definitely did remember. Lord Werchast had mortally wounded little miss Anna Rochefort, and now it was time for payback.

"I would have loved you." A slender hand caressed his cheek, and he lowered his head again, kissing her with such a passion that it made them tingle. He would take this punishment, and let memories flood his mind.

Middle of winter. Cold, gray, the atmosphere made more oppressing by city watchmen standing at every corner with their white dragon steeds. A sweet, young girl with strawberry blonde hair, a dazzling smile, and the most tempestuous nature anyone had ever encountered. Foolish urges and too little understanding. It might as well have been murder, the way she suffered, afterwards.

He sighed as the weapon went off. Finality had such a sweet taste.

---

George (a limerick for the Queen of the Infernally Cute as a honourable mention prize)

His name's George, born in Australia
he's a decent lad, will never fail ya
it's a bit of a tragedy
how the poor lad came to be
the day his ma humped a koala

---

MS Newtide (translation of a poem originally written in Finnish)

The port is hailing
a ship of new tides
the like of which has never been seen

sails sown
from petals of red roses
moorings twined
with threads of kind thoughts

the guns loaded
with pure love

Prepare to step aboard
and sail
to a new life

---

A bunch of Five Words entries...


Pure madness. There were no other words to describe the utter chaos in our research laboratory. Experimentation that had started out innocently enough, as a joke, had now run out of control and become something beyond monstrous. Too late had we realised there was to be no meddling with affairs of the magical. If it is the sign of a wise man in hindsight to ponder upon things that should have been done differently, then I have no desire to become wise. I want to, I need to forget this ever happened. Subjecting the egg we found to all kinds of tests... Gods, what had we been thinking? Right at the beginning of this term it was established that the other species living alongside with us in the valley were not to be disturbed, and we had defied that order, our disobediance resulting in a complete disaster. Connection to the worlds parallel to ours is the strongest there, and what had we done but potentially destroyed the frail balance? The creature standing - sitting? - in front of me had ripped out the high voltage cables behind the walls without suffering the slightest wound, and for a moment I prayed it would prove to be a mere nightmare. Needless to say, my prayers were not answered. Matters simply don't happen that way. Instead, a horde of people I cannot to this day place rushed the laboratory, and before I had a chance to say or do anything, I was whisked away... into this selfsame cell onto the walls of which I am now writing my story. I don't know what happened to the creature, and I doubt I'll ever find out. Whoever reads this, to whomever it may concern, if you feel even the slightest temptation to play with what you know nothing of: resist that temptation. Never meddle in things beyond your comprehension. That was what I did, and only destruction followed. Never do the same...

---


I had never seen her in a state like that before. She caressed the piano keys gently, deep in thought, then raised her gaze to me. That small frame, usually so strong, now seemed too vulnerable, fragile, as if she would fall apart from even the lightest touch. I'm not prone to hate, but at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to destroy the person who had made her look at me with those sad, sad eyes. When she told me, haltingly, what she had heard only a few moments before, I felt like something inside me was dying. I still remembered the day when I had been informed of her mother having passed away, her lifeless body having been found in her prayer room, the strong scent of incense drowning out the bitter tang of blood. It was bipolar disorder that had killed her, the despair reaching a point where nothing could bring her back - and now her daughter, my lovely rose, despite all the prayers and wishes, had it too. I could only gather her in my arms and hope it wouldn't be so bad. "You have light in you," I whispered, and for a moment, we both believed.

---

She absently watched her sister squirt a generous amount of sun lotion onto an open palm, then turned to glance at the sun, high up and climbing higher still to its zenith, squinting as the brightness hurt her eyes. The fine sand, almost burning hot under her bare feet, reflected the light, and she allowed a tiny smile to adorn her lips as she raised a hand to her forehead, shadowing her eyes, and gazed out to the ocean. Somewhere, not so far away, it was raining, a gentle, soft drizzle, and the rainbow stretching over the expanse of blue sky made her smile widen. Amusement bubbled up as laughter as she witnessed a turtle slowly make its way to the shore. Everything felt good today. She felt so light, she thought she might be able to rise up and float away with the breeze. It didn't get much better than this.

---

Something sharp, hard, hit him squarely on the forehead, just between his eyes. Belatedly he raised his heavy arms to protect his face from the brutal onslaught of pebble after another flying at him from the other side of the yard. He got the message, he always did. Mongrels were not welcome in the town where people prided themselves on their legacy, on their pure blood. He thought back to the girl standing on the side of the road when he arrived, gaping at him, following his every move with googly eyes, ready to lancer the contents of her bucket at him were he to come any closer. Words rang in his ears as he ran for cover, ran to the only place he could feel remotely safe in. He was to learn swordsmanship here, but so far, he had only learned one thing: He was despicable.

---

We stood side by side, her and I, looking out to the ocean where ice was beginning to slowly thaw after a harsh winter. Our worn clothes did little to shield us from the wind, still cold and bitter, and I could taste blood where my chapped lips had opened with wounds. Hers, too; I licked a drop from her mouth before she turned her head away from the kiss. Chuckling, I drew back and once again set my eyes on the scenery around us. It wasn't exactly lovely, nowhere near the beauty I'd once known, but it would do. This refuge didn't have to be eternal, after all. Behind us, we could hear an engine purr to life, and I took a step away from the edge of the cliff. "Come on," I said. "We have some debts to settle."

---

"Can you die of a broken heart?" I hear myself asking, pressing a chaste kiss on her pale cheek. She is lovely even like this; lying on the hospital bed, thin as a wire. A faint purr emanates from her throat, and I know she is still here. I cannot bear the thought of her going, slipping into an eternal sleep, away from me, from our life together. She was the one to reach to me, the one to thaw the ice in my heart. Now, I ache. "Please don't leave."

---

The acrid smell of burnt sugar hung heavy in the air. Water, spilled from a glass, was running in rivulets to form a puddle on the wooden floor. The small stones laid down to dot the table were scattered every which way. Halfway out the door, she lay, head poorly pillowed against a scarf, hands gripping the carpet. She shook and spasmed, toes curled from the intense pain wracking through her body. She cursed the heavens, asking herself why the fancy modern gadget was never at hand when needed, lips twisting in an agonised grimace as she remembered that this time, it was resting just on the edge of the table barely a metre away. Hopelessly out of reach. There was nothing to be done but wait.

---

Marjorie was the kind of girl who always had her head in the clouds, dreaming of a life filled with romantic comedy. The only reason her social life was quite so rich was because she couldn't stay still until her every fantasy would be fulfilled. Her friends, the ones that could actually stand her, tried to make her see that the life she led was anything but healthy. She was trying so hard to find something or, rather, someone that would make her happy that she forgot everything else, forgot the little things that truly mattered. It came as no surprise when she eventually collapsed.

---

Time slips between my fingers like sand in an hourglass, and I can never be sure where I should draw the comparison or where to end the, admittedly clichéd, analogy. At this rate any future I might have had will turn to dust, and I'm hard pressed to suppress the bitter laughter rising in my throat. It feels remarkably akin to bile. Shuddering, I set the heels of my palms on my eyes, blocking out what little light is trickling through the blinds. A few more failures brought on this god-forsaken apathy and I'll have nothing left. These fabricated memories are, never were, enough to keep me going. If only I could stop living this façade.

---


Posh clothes, immaculate like anything else was a crime... Even the way he he held himself was downright pure elegance, straight from the dictionary. One could oft find him in the general vicinity of the arts classroom, holding his court, cold and aloof yet at the same time simply having to lord it over them - almost as if he didn't know how else to be. Many were drawn in by his talent, some because they imagined seeing a glimmer of something kinder, softer, more real behind the facade, bust most found themselves captured by his beauty. Never mind that the paleness of his skin made even the barest hint of black clash horribly against it, or that the long, soft fall of dark brown hair was framing ridiculously feminine features... Never mind that none could claim to ever have seen him truly smile - not those deprecating (or self-deprecating?) half-smirks that too often twisted his lips, but a real, honest-to-god smile. Never mind that he rarely had a kind word for anyone. They all saw something in him, and even if he made them cry, even if he took his walls down for no one, somehow, it was all right. For in his own way, he gave them all he could.

---

"Feeling posh today, my lord General? Let me just tell you, that cloak clashes something terrible with the rest of your outfit. Please, sir, do allow me to assist. Your fashion sense truly is atrocious. I can only imagine what your previous servant must have gone through. Poor dear old Thomas. He was a great loss to the household. Ah. Here, milord, all done." Dead silence. "Ah, yes, I think I shall excuse myself now, if you will..." Shoes scuffling, door clicking softly. Long, weary sigh. What ever had possessed him to take that particular young man under his wing, he'd never know. He merely hoped he would survive it without going prematurely grey.

---

People often wonder how they're supposed to keep going after heartbreak. It's easy, really. You just pick up the pieces, turn around, and walk on. The heart mends in time, and the cracks will be mere scars among others. It would be easier, perhaps, to lock that door and throw away the key forever. Less painful, certainly, in some ways; but I cannot house a rock in my chest. Not without effectively destroying myself. So the only thing I can do is weather the storms that would rip me apart and, later in life, laugh at how silly it all was while I scroll through old journal entries.

---

Mere paces separated the two, yet they were held back by hesitation and the forbiddance of both their families. Theirs had been love at first sight, but they had been forced to look with longing eyes from a distance, to meet in secret. Julio was overwhelmed to be able to view her so closely in open for the first time.
"Oh, Maria! Rose of my eye! There are no words in this language to tell how I long for you!" The young man made to kiss his betrothed, but could only yelp in alarm as she moved to swing her fist. Stopping inches from his nose, she spat out a few choice words and walked off the stage.
"You try that again, I kill you."

---

Love like you always do
only in the morning minding the consequences
vouching for ignorance - such a fool
even as she rebuilds her defences

---

Drabble entries.

Spring

Spring. Everywhere around, nature is awakening from its slumber, trees covered in tiny green buds, early flowers beginning to bloom. People look livelier, their spirits lifted by warming weathers, the fresh scent in the air. I feel it too, yet differently. There's sadness lingering just beneath the surface.
She loved the spring. Even the word made her smile. When snow began melting, she always rushed to see me, full of life, demanded we search for budding willows, flowers, anything. It's been long, but I still follow that little ritual.
Spring. Such a poignant word. I'll go search for willowbuds, and should I find any, I'll bring them to her.

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The depths of winter...

It has been snowing for three years now, solid. Every last stretch of land is covered in a thick white blanket. Since people were evacuated under the domes four and a half years ago, I have not had one single breath of fresh air. Not one.
Scientists, magicians, it matters not who has tried to find the reason behind this endless snowfall – they all emerge from their studies, wearied, none wiser. It began so gradually, we did not know to worry before we began entering deepest, darkest depths of winter. I fear my children growing up to never see sunlight.

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Candle (original, too-long version in italics)


Fascinated, she watched the flame flicker. A draft was coming from somewhere, an open window in one end of the long narrow room perhaps, but she paid no mind. Temperature hardly bore significance now. It had been dark for hours, and she'd lost track of just how long she had sat at the foot of the stairs. So thoroughly enraptured was she with the candle in her hands that she brought fingers up, letting the fire lick at cold skin, ignoring drops of wax splashing on bare feet.
Giggling, she looked at her hand in awe. Yesterday it still burned.

Fascinated, she watched the flame flicker in the slight breeze blowing in the chilly front hall. There was a draft coming from somewhere, an open window in one end of the long narrow room perhaps, but she paid no mind. Temperature could hardly bear any significance at this point - besides, having a gust of wind sweep through the huge estate was somehow appropriate, no matter how small. It had been dark for hours now, and she'd lost track of just how long she had sat at the foot of the stairs, waiting. So thoroughly enraptured had she been with the candle in her hands that she had brought a finger up, letting the tiny fire lick at cold skin, ignoring the drops of wax that splashed on her bare feet.
Giggling, letting the sound of it fill the space, she looked at her hand in awe. It didn't burn. Not like it still had yesterday.

---

Concerti entry, theme: relationships

Kisses like a piece
of heaven, her body next
to mine is pure bliss

Slamming the door she
is off on her high horse yet
again; I sit, wait

Our paths are twined tightly
still she has begun to tear
them at the seams, why?

---

Limerick. Hate, detest, blagh.

A very nice boy, this kid called Matt
clean, polite, only one thing that's bad
he sometimes forgets to pay
so all the girls say
he is, in fact, quite the utter twat